Drone Command

FIFTY-EIGHT

Admiral Ji stood on the flying bridge of the Tai Shan, his flagship. He greeted his old friend, the rising sun, as it crested the wine-dark ocean. The cold, salty breeze stung his face, but he was warm beneath his thick woolen greatcoat. He was as happy as he could remember. Ji was a man at the peak of his powers, the admiral of China’s largest invasion fleet since the days of the great emperors. Today he would make history. China would assume its rightful place under heaven, and the world would never be the same again.

The newly built Tai Shan was a giant 210-meter-long amphibious transport dock ship carrying a battalion of PLAN marines, two French SA 321 Super Frelon transport helicopters, and four Russian Zubr-class troop transports, the world’s largest military hovercraft.

The Tai Shan was well guarded by its escort of Type 056 corvettes and Type 052 guided-missile destroyers, including the Kunming. Both classes of vessels possessed powerful long-range antiship, antiair, and antisubmarine systems. Two diesel-powered Kilo-class submarines shadowed the Tai Shan as well. The task force wouldn’t be complete until Admiral Deng arrived with the aircraft carrier Liaoning and a full complement of conventional jet fighter-bombers along with six of the Lijian UCAVs. Once the Liaoning and its support ships rendezvoused, Ji would transfer his command via helicopter to the Liaoning. Per their battle plan, they would proceed toward Mao Island and the Diaoyus, careful to not accidentally signal that the task force was intent on the long-awaited invasion of Taiwan. It wasn’t.

In Ji’s mind, the Taiwan campaign would be his crowning achievement and the first goal of the PLA Navy once he was installed as president of the People’s Republic. Shaming the Americans into backing down over the Diaoyus would finally convince the rest of the world that the United States was no longer a reliable ally, and the rebellious Taiwanese would either capitulate or suffer the mainland’s wrath in a lightning-swift war of reunification. The Mao Island campaign was the key to China’s rise and dominance in the East. It was as bold as it was necessary, which was why Ji was able to convince a significant number of PLA and PLAN flag officers to support the adventure, including Admiral Deng, commander of the South Sea Fleet. Neither he nor Deng were under any delusions that the Mao task force could withstand a direct confrontation with the U.S. Navy’s vastly more powerful Sixth Fleet — but the Wu-14 virtually guaranteed that such a confrontation would never occur.

Ji believed the greatest threat to the expeditionary force at the moment was President Sun. As a precaution, the admiral had deployed a second battalion of marines to guard Ningbo from a possible PLA attack that Sun might mount to stop the small fleet while it was still at base replenishing for the mission, but no such attack occurred. Ji wondered if Sun’s inaction was a tacit endorsement of his efforts. But Vice Chairman Feng argued that President Sun was more afraid of the blowback he would suffer for an attack on a Chinese naval facility led by China’s greatest and most admired military commander. Feng also assured his allies in and out of uniform that Admiral Ji’s task force was preparing for a mission to secure China’s future and glory, and squashed the ugly rumor that the PLAN was preparing some sort of military junta against Sun and his reformist cronies.

A junior officer approached Ji with a cup of steaming hot tea. The young man’s eyes radiated with hero worship. Ji took the tea with a grateful nod and dismissed him, cherishing the last few moments of solitude he would enjoy before he transferred his combat command to the Liaoning.