Drone Command

TWO

I can even see the admiral’s gleaming brass buttons.”

Commander Hiroshi Onizuka had his eyes glued to the crystal-clear HD flat-panel display. A Sandia Multimodal Volant drone fed its images directly into his control console. Pearce Systems had just developed the integrated drone and sensor system, and installed it on the Sword Dragon for testing. Onizuka preferred his beloved periscope, but he was impressed with the expanded capabilities of the new electro-optical sensors in the retrofitted photonics mast married to the far-ranging surveillance drone. “But that’s not what worries me.”

Troy Pearce stood beside him, watching the same images. The former CIA SOG operative’s black hair was flecked with gray — one for every bullet ever shot at him over the years, he joked — and the laugh lines in the corners of his world-weary blue eyes were anything but. As the CEO of the world’s premier drone security company, he’d seen plenty of surveillance video before, but never while standing in a submerged submarine. “Looks like some kind of ceremony. A burial at sea?”

Onizuka pulled off his ball cap and ran a hand through his thick hair. At thirty-six, the handsome naval officer was the youngest sub captain in the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force (JMSDF) and commanded one of its newest vessels. The diesel-powered Soryu-class submarines were the largest and most advanced Japan had built since the war, but the stealthy Sword Dragon carried only short-range conventional torpedoes and antiship missiles as befitting the JMSDF’s mission limitations.

“The way he was flapping his arms? I don’t think so. Definitely a ceremony of some kind, but not a burial.” Onizuka’s English was slightly accented, but perfect — one of the reasons Pearce was assigned to his boat. “Too bad we don’t have audio.”

“The Volant is too high up.”

“Yes, of course.”

“But we can get a closer look at the object they threw overboard.”

This was a perfect real-world scenario for Pearce to demonstrate the extreme value of drones to the skeptical Japanese captain and, by extension, the JMSDF establishment. Pearce’s covert assignment was to privately reassure the Japanese that the United States was willing and able to help the beleaguered nation find another way to defend itself against recent Chinese aggression without a massive conventional naval rearmament program. The prospect of Japan rebuilding another blue-water navy was too problematic for its Asian neighbors, especially the Chinese.

But tensions between China and Japan in the East China Sea had risen dramatically over the last few years, focused symbolically on what the Japanese called the Senkaku Islands, a collection of five small islands and three uninhabitable rocks situated in an area of vast new oil and gas reserves recently estimated at triple the original forecast. Both China and Japan claimed them as sovereign territory, partly to control the incredible resource wealth buried beneath the ocean floor. But Pearce was quickly learning that symbolism and history were just about as important as oil and gas on this side of the planet.

Onizuka nodded to the ensign at the Volant’s control station. “Engage.”

A thousand meters above the Chinese missile destroyer, the modified Sandia Volant slowed as it began a programmed descent. Within minutes, the delta-winged aircraft dove effortlessly into the water, the ailerons on its wings’ trailing edges now serving as dive planes. It traveled much more slowly beneath the surface than above it, but the Volant proved highly maneuverable underwater.

Thanks to a partnership with MIT and the Pearce Systems research team led by Dr. Kirin Rao, the new, highly reliable spread — spectrum signaling technology deployed today made long-distance underwater wireless communications possible. Rao did her best to explain the physics behind it all, but underwater acoustics was beyond Pearce’s reach. That’s why he let her run his research division with a free hand. Rao’s breakthrough was significant. UUVs could now be deployed beyond the limited reach of tethered communication lines and manipulated more adroitly than automated underwater navigational software, which was still in its relative infancy.

Automated sensors onboard the Sandia Multimodal prevented collisions with large underwater objects, but the Japanese ensign could manually direct it with a joystick, steering it via the first-person video perspective from one of the drone’s onboard cameras, illuminating the dark waters by a powerful LED cluster. For the moment, the Volant steered itself, homing in on the Kunming’s location that it had fixed with its laser range finder before it dived.

It wasn’t long before the multimodal drone came within a hundred feet of the engraved marble stone, nestled on the slope of a five-hundred-foot-tall seamount looming like a dark pyramid in the dim waters.

Pearce and Onizuka watched the ensign’s video feed. The air was cool in the cramped but gleaming high-tech control room. Pearce tried to ignore his creeping claustrophobia. He wiped away a bead of sweat on his face with the tip of his thumb.

Onizuka barked an order in Japanese to his navigation officer on the other side of the control room. The navigator tapped on a computer screen, called back to his captain.

“Our Chinese friends apparently have found an uncharted seamount,” Onizuka translated. “Now, let’s see if we can get a closer look at that stele they tossed overboard.”

The ensign eased the drone into the current closer to the stone. Electric-powered thrusters held it in place. The video camera zoomed in. The image was a little wobbly, but clear.

“My Chinese isn’t so good,” Pearce said.

“Nor is mine. But we use the same kanji. I believe it says, ‘Mao Island. China. 1 May 2017.’ It includes longitude and latitude coordinates.”

“‘Mao Island’?” Pearce frowned with confusion. “What does that mean?”

Onizuka laid a hand on the young ensign’s shoulder. “Well done, Kenzo. Please forward that video to fleet HQ.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pearce had done his homework on the Senkaku Islands controversy before arriving. “I don’t remember any Mao Island around here.”

Onizuka’s affable face hardened. “Apparently there is now. At least that’s what the Chinese believe, according to that territorial stele.” He didn’t bother to add that the Chinese had scattered such steles over its vast empires as border markers for centuries.

Onizuka ordered the ensign to return the multimodal drone to the Sword Dragon for recovery. A portable launch/recovery module was installed in one of the forward torpedo tubes.

Pearce sensed the young captain’s unease. He had every reason to be concerned. If Japan and China were going to start a shooting war, it would most likely start right here, and thanks to defense and alliance treaties with Japan, the United States would be dragged into the fighting quickly — an outcome the Pentagon wanted to avoid at all costs.

Pearce had signed on with President Lane before he was even elected on the strength of Margaret Myers’s personal recommendation, and Pearce was eager to serve again. It was easy enough to agree to a private consultation with the Japanese navy. His company was the best in the world at drone research and operations, both civilian and military. It was a smart play by Lane to send him. This way, the American government didn’t appear to be publicly bolstering Japan, but Lane could send a strong personal message through Pearce. He didn’t mind being an envoy. The idea of not being shot at for once was fine by him, even if he felt like the submarine hull was closing in on him.

“So what good does it do for the Chinese to invent an underwater island? What can they do with it?”

“In their minds, they can now make new territorial claims — up to twelve miles, according to international law, besides the two-hundred-mile exclusive economic zone. But it means much more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Your Global War on Terrorism didn’t begin on 9/11.”

“No, it didn’t. It really began the day Osama bin Laden declared war on us in his 1996 fatwa. He claimed we invaded the Muslim holy land and that we needed to be pushed back out. We just weren’t paying attention to him at the time.”

Onizuka pointed at the display monitor. “With that stele, it’s exactly the same thing. The Chinese are making their own declaration about their sacred territory.”

Pearce noticed that the control room had become eerily silent. The young crew was hanging on Onizuka’s every word.

“So you believe it’s a declaration of war?”

“It means, at the very least, that China is prepared to fight a war.” Onizuka’s eyes narrowed. The Japanese captain was six feet tall and broad shouldered, just a few inches shorter than the former CIA special ops warrior. “The question is, are you?”

Pearce felt the heat rise up in his face. It was an accusation, not a question. Anywhere else, he’d be tempted to punch the guy’s lights out. He stuffed the anger back down into its hole. His mission was to smooth things over, not mix it up with the locals, insults or not. Besides, if he were Japanese, he’d have the same worry about America’s commitment to its allies.

“I’m just a private citizen, Captain, not a government official. But I know President Lane well and, unofficially, I can assure you that my country will not abandon the Japanese people in a time of crisis.”

Onizuka’s eyes searched Pearce’s. He nodded. “I want to believe you but this provocation tells me that China thinks otherwise.”

A sonar ping smashed into the sub’s hull like a sledgehammer. Pearce flinched.

“Splashes, Captain.” The bespectacled sonar operator couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. The crew scrambled back to stations.

Onizuka was unfazed. He smiled at his American guest, enjoying his obvious discomfort. “Waiting for the depth charges to blow?”

“Something like that.”

Onizuka laughed. “You’ve watched too many submarine movies. That sonar ping was just the Chinese letting us know that they know we’re here. The splashes my sonar operator just heard are only more sonar buoys breaking the surface of the water.”

The radar operator called out, cool and professional. It seemed to Pearce that all the faces of the fighting men he met lately were getting younger.

“Aircraft. Speed, six-five-two kph. Distance, twenty kilometers. Heading, two-seven-zero.”

“Chinese antisubmarine patrol. Nothing to worry about.” Onizuka flashed a mischievous grin. “Unless, of course, they decide to fire their weapons.” He gave his XO the order to dive a hundred meters down and deploy electronic countermeasures.

“I thought the Chinese weren’t very good at ASW,” Pearce said.

“They’re not, but they’re getting better, thanks to French sonar technology and the German diesel engines powering that guided-missile destroyer we just saw.”

A light flashed on a nearby console. The captain frowned. “Excuse me, Mr. Pearce.”

Onizuka picked up the phone. The Sword Dragon was still tethered to its communication buoy on the surface. He listened. His body stiffened and he bowed slightly. Obviously someone in authority on the other end. His eyes widened. Onizuka handed the phone to Pearce. “It’s for you. The president of the United States wants to speak with you.”

Pearce took the phone, confused. A series of clicks, then a woman’s voice. “Mr. Pearce? The president is on the line. He’d like to speak with you, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course.”

“Troy, David here. How’s everything on your end?”

Troy felt the deck diving beneath his feet. “In the middle of something, sir.” Lane was technically calling him from last night. A thirteen-hour time difference. Must be urgent.

“Then I’ll cut to the chase.”

Lane filled him in. Pearce handed Onizuka the phone. “I’ve got to get back to shore. Now.”

The captain hung up the phone then squared up in Pearce’s face. “Is that an order?”

“It’s an urgent… request.”

Onizuka nodded, smirking. “Yes, of course. Urgent.” He turned away and ordered his men to prepare to surface.

Another ping slammed into the submarine’s hull.

Pearce swore under his breath.

So much for not abandoning friends.