Ghost Recon

TWENTY

The crew of USS Montana, a Virginia-class nuclear fast-attack submarine, was bound for Sasebo, Japan, after a week's monitoring of supertanker traffic through the Malacca Strait linking the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Passage through the strait was the shortest sea route for India, China, and Indonesia, and the key choke point in Asia. To bypass the strait added 944 miles to any ship's transit.

"Emergency deep," ordered Captain Kenneth Gummerson.

Montana's control team immediately initiated a full-power dive toward a depth of 150 feet — deep enough to avoid collision with the bottom of any modern supertanker yet shallow enough to recover from flooding should a collision ensue.

"Worked perfectly, Captain," reported the chief petty officer copilot. "Touch screen control all the way, no need to go to minimum electronic mode and joystick control."

This fourth drill in the last twenty-four hours reassured Gummerson that a computer module swap-out had indeed tweaked the digital interface between the stern plane actuators and the sub's fly-by-wire (FBW) computer.

Gummerson, a twice-divorced forty-seven-year-old victim of long separations and short reunions, had tacked on silver eagles during this operation, but the promotion meant giving up his command. All hands knew their relief commander would be waiting on the pier in Sasebo. Change of command was a bittersweet event for all concerned.

"Incoming flash traffic, CO eyes only, Captain," reported the duty radioman.

Gummerson nodded. "Bring it back to my stateroom after it's logged in."

Minutes later, in the privacy of his quarters, Gummerson carefully studied his new orders:

Gummerson reread the message, signed for receipt, then smiled broadly. He hoped his relief had decent accommodations in Sasebo, because the man would be waiting a little longer before he could steal Gummerson's boat.

When U.S. Naval Base Subic Bay was shut down back in 1992, the area was slowly converted into a tax- and duty-free zone not unlike those in Hong Kong and Singapore. Despite the naval base's closure, American warships continued taking advantage of the deep, natural harbor in order to resupply and provide their crews much-needed shore leave.

The Freeport Zone was operated by the Subic Bay Metropolitan Authority, and it was with this organization that USSOCOM had negotiated to borrow an old navy office building currently under renovation to become a souvenir shop.

Captain Scott Mitchell stood near the door of what was once a conference room. Beside him sat piles of lumber, table saws, and sheets of drywall. He gazed out through the dust at the eight other operators who, like him, were hot and exhausted but eager to learn more about Operation War Wraith, the Ghosts' answer to Pouncing Dragon.

Other than the jet lag, the sore muscles, the blood-shot eyes, and the pounding headache, Mitchell felt great. His people felt likewise and lied about it exactly as he had.

He and Ramirez (now a master sergeant) had already set up the computer and projector so they could begin discussing the target intelligence package they had downloaded a few hours earlier. He began with the Situation Report.

"Sir, once we're onshore," began Diaz, "how far inland is the target?"

Mitchell brought up a series of satellite photos of the Hakka castle, with its four silolike buildings and single rectangular structure. "We'll cover all the details of our infil. But for now, have a look. These castles are scattered throughout the region. At least the Tigers picked one that's only a three-hour drive into the mountains. We've got good cover through the outer cordon. High-rising mountains to the west, and some nice hog-backs and saddles to the east. Forests look pretty dense, too."

Brown raised his hand. "Sir, the photos show lots of civilians."

Mitchell sighed. "Yeah, they do. The TIP confirms at least a hundred or more individuals living and working in the castle."

That drew a chorus of groans.

"There is a chance the Tigers will move out the civilians for their meeting — maybe for security reasons, but frankly, I doubt that."

"We do have at least one asset to help us deal with collateral damage," said Ramirez. He worked the computer's mouse and brought up a surveillance photograph of a skinny, gray-haired guy with pants hiked up to his belly button. "This is Huang. He's one of the village elders at the castle. Our two CIA guys have already gotten to him, and he'll be our eyes on the inside."

"That's right," added Mitchell. "We assume most of the Tigers will fly in, probably the night before the meeting. They'll be put up in various rooms. My problem with the initial OPORDER was we were being tasked to find these guys, who could be in five different buildings. That'd waste time and leave us too vulnerable. If Huang comes through for us, he'll indicate exactly where each commander is sleeping before we hit the place."

"And if he doesn't?" asked Beasley.

Mitchell snorted. "Then it's going to be a long night. Anyway, let's take a look at the targets."

Ramirez brought up another photograph depicting a cherub-faced, fifty-year-old Chinese man wearing thick glasses and a dark suit.

"The TIP suggests that this guy won't be at the castle, but he's the top dog. Deputy Minister Wang Ya from the Central Military Commission's political department. His military attache is the DIA operative who got us this intel."

"I like his haircut," said Nolan, referring to the sheen on Wang's bald pate. The medic was always good for a wisecrack, and Mitchell allowed him his fun — to a point.

"Next guy in line is this individual, Major-General Chen Yi. He's a graduate of the Army Command Academy and commander of the entire Nanjing Military Region."

Chen was a few years younger than Wang and had a lazy left eye. He offered a solemn stare in a clearly staged photograph with the Chinese flag in the background.

Mitchell continued, "When the Tigers meet, Chen runs the show. And then there's this guy…"

Ramirez brought up a picture of a dark-haired young man with a broad nose, long neck, and solemn stare who stood near one of the Chinese Army's new four-wheel-drive vehicles. "He's Colonel Xu Dingfa, a graduate of the Communication Command Academy in Wuhan. Xu was actually a member of the '08 Olympic gymnastics team. He didn't earn any medals, but let's make sure he doesn't cartwheel his way to escape."

That drew a few chuckles. Mitchell eyed Nolan, who raised his thumb and nodded.

The next photograph depicted a short but muscular man wearing a robe and slippers and holding the leash of a small dog. Behind him rose a lush garden.

"Say hello to Vice Admiral Cai Ming. He's the commander of the East Sea Fleet in the NMR. Here he is taking his dog for a dump near the HQ in Ningbo."

"I like his dog," said Nolan. "That's a Pekingese. They go good with a nice Cabernet."

"I prefer a Pinot Noir," said Diaz, smirking at Nolan.

"And last but not least, we have Major-General Wu Hui. He's a graduate of the Air Defense Command Academy in Zhengzhi."

Wu had just climbed out of a fighter plane and removed his helmet. He wore a scowl made famous by martial artists like Bruce Lee. Of all the Tigers, he seemed like the real badass, in Mitchell's humble opinion.

"So once again, we have four primary targets: Chen, the NMR commander; Xu, our army commo guy; Cai, our admiral; and Wu, our top gun. For simplicity and communications purposes we'll designate these guys as Targets Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta respectively."

Ramirez brought up a slide depicting all four men with target designations superimposed over the photos:

"Sir, y'all mean to say that these four guys can start World War III?" asked Paul Smith, scratching his head.

"Four guys? Only takes one with his finger on the trigger," said Nolan.

"Paul, these guys have been working on this Pouncing Dragon plan for years, and they have feelers spread through the entire military," said Mitchell. "The Politburo makes the ultimate decision about war in China, and their boy Wang is plugged in pretty well there. Once the ball's rolling, the Chinese government can't stop it."

"What's their strike plan?" asked Diaz.

"That's not part of our TIP, and higher may not know. But back to your question Paul, yes, these four commanders can light the fuse."

"Sir, we've mentioned the civilians," said Beasley. "What about threat force composition and disposition?"

"You mean bad guys guarding the place?" asked Brown, poking fun at Beasley's formality. The team sergeant didn't talk much, but when he did, it was always by the book.

Mitchell cleared his throat, and that quickly silenced those chuckling. He lifted his chin at Beasley. "Matt, we can assume the Tigers will bring their own security force. The larger that force is, the more attention they'll call to themselves, so we expect they'll limit that team to two or three squads, hopefully no more than twenty. I've requested streaming video of the castle so we can make an accurate threat assessment, assuming the security team will arrive before the Tigers do. If all goes well there, we'll run a split team op." Mitchell nodded to Ramirez, who brought up the personnel list:

"Alpha Team will be the inner cordon, tasked with infiltrating the castle and terminating the targets. Matt? You guys will be outer cordon, taking out security, removing any chances of escape from the AO. Alicia, you're on your own to clear Alpha Team an entry point."

Jenkins raised his hand, his expression dubious.

"What do you got, Bo?" asked Mitchell.

"Sir, I don't doubt Bravo can secure the outer cordon. But even with our guy on the inside to help locate the targets, you'll be going through multistories, probably got animals running around to make noise, old guys getting up in the middle of the night to use the outhouse, and a thousand other things that can go wrong to blow your cover."

"You mean it's just another day at the office."

"All I'm saying, sir, is if we recon the place, and it looks too hairy, why don't you let Johnny and me cut loose with some rockets. We'll be standing off and take down the entire castle."

"Sounds like a plan to me," said John Hume, who would always vote yes for explosives.

"I agree, that's safer," said Beasley. "But if the general wanted it big and loud, he wouldn't have called us."

"That's right," said Mitchell. "But I understand your reservations, Bo. And I hope you don't mind me acknowledging your sacrifice to be here. Bo's father was admitted to the hospital just before he got the call. His dad's stable, but he didn't even get a chance to say good-bye. Bo, I speak for everyone when I say thanks for being here."

Jenkins averted his gaze and nodded.

Ramirez glanced up from the computer. "Sir, we have a call from General Keating."

Mitchell exhaled in frustration. "I thought he wasn't calling until later. Put him through."

With that, everyone sat up.

"Mitchell, good to see you soldiers arrived on time."

"Thank you, General. And we'll be happy to stop breathing in the asbestos and ship out ASAP."

"Roger that, soldier. We just received word from your CIA contacts they've procured their trucks and boat."

"We were just getting ready to cover the infil in detail."

"That's good. No other changes to report. Your request for live stream on the target has been sent up the pipe. I've also put in a request to the DIA to call upon their operative one last time, should we need him during the exfil. I have a feeling that when all hell breaks loose, we'll need every asset we have."

"General, it is my intention to infiltrate that castle, take out those targets, and be back home before they know what hit them."

"I like your style, son."

"Yes, sir."

Keating raised his index finger. "Now, Ghost Team, I'm depending on you to pull this off. Those maniacs plan to invade Taiwan, and if they do, the U.S. will go to war with China. Millions will die, the U.S. economy will be ruined, and God forbid they raise a Chinese flag over the White House."

Mitchell steeled his voice. "Sir, we understand what's at stake."

"Good. Now, I want a clean operation. No blood trails. I've made sure all your ammo comes from our friends in Texas, so you'll field your best weapons. That brass is unmarked, untraceable — and that's a good thing, because I don't want you people packing Chinese water pistols on this operation. Oh, and by the way, if any one of you dies without permission, you're going to piss me off. And worse, you'll piss off your buddies, because they'll need to carry you home. No one — dead or alive — gets left behind. Do you people read me?"

Everyone answered in unison, "Sir, yes, sir."

"Very well then. The XO from Montana will be contacting you once they arrive at the pier. Send additional intel requests my way. That's all for now. Make us proud, people."

Mitchell answered for all of them: "We will, sir. Thank you, sir."

Ramirez cut the link. Every pair of shoulders slumped.

"Geez, no pressure at all," said Smith. "He sounded worse than my old man."

"But he's not nagging us to go to college or take over as sheriff," said Mitchell, hoisting his brows.

Smith gave a reluctant nod.

"All right, let's break for a drink. When we come back, I'll walk you through the infiltration. And whatever I don't cover, the SEALs will later on."

As the group filed out toward the door, Ramirez lingered behind, looking more than a little concerned. "Sir, this ain't Europe. This ain't the 'Stan. This is China."

Mitchell repressed a shudder. "I know what you mean, Joey."