Shattered Trident

12. DECLARATION

4 September 2016

1210 Local Time

Shinjuku Gyoen

Tokyo, Japan

They’d bought bento lunch boxes and gone to the park to eat. Admiral Kubo still had business at the Maritime Staff Office, located nearby in the Shibuyun district, although these days he was spending most of his time in Yokosuka, at the fleet headquarters.

In earlier days, the Shinjuku Gyoen had been the private estate of a noble family, later taken over by the Imperial house. It was now administered as a national park. Similar to Central Park in New York, it was the largest green space in the Tokyo metroplex, a natural world set among the steel and concrete sprawl.

They’d picked the English formal garden, along with what seemed like most of Tokyo, salarymen and office ladies enjoying a break from the muggy summer heat. Kubo and Komamura had both dressed casually, in slacks and open-collared shirts, as if they’d spent the morning at the links.

Kubo had arranged the meeting, with information to share and questions to ask. Komamura was more than willing to meet with someone he now thought of as a close friend. The admiral had started by asking Komamura for details on China’s oil status, and the professor was pleased with the questions he asked. It was clear those “udon economics lessons” had not been wasted. His answer was no different than the one he’d given Hisagi a few days ago—the Chinese were not going to buckle this week.

Then it had been Komamura’s turn to be the pupil. Kubo actually looked left and right, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Last night, Kenryu reported being attacked as she approached a tanker.”

Komamura’s alarm was clear in his expression. “She must have survived, or she would not have been able to report. But how did the Chinese find her?”

“We don’t think it was a Chinese submarine. Captain Zaraki had a good solution on his target and was just outside firing range. He’d just opened his outer tube doors when a powerful active sonar pulse struck his submarine. It was so strong that it was audible inside the pressure hull.”

“That meant he was close by,” Komamura offered. “But you said that submarines rarely use their active sonars.”

“That’s right,” Kubo agreed, “but one of the few times it might be used is if the attacker is not sure of his fire control solution. Then he would send a ‘ranging pulse’ to confirm a target’s position just before firing. If you’re about to shoot, revealing yourself with active sonar is not as important.”

“And was he fired on?” Komamura asked.

“Zaraki didn’t wait to find out. He deployed a noisemaker and maneuvered violently to evade any possible torpedo. He heard nothing on passive sonar, either from a torpedo or another submarine. Since our standing orders are to avoid any warship capable of detecting a submarine, and he’d depleted his battery avoiding the unknown submarine, he abandoned his attack on the tanker and reported to us.”

“And there was no further sign of the other sub.”

“The attack came from almost the same bearing as the tanker. It may be that the submarine was masking its own noise with the tanker’s.”

“Isn’t that hazardous for the sub, staying that close to another ship?”

Kubo nodded. Finishing his meal, the admiral tucked his chopsticks into the box and replaced the lid. “Zaraki transmitted his recordings of the sonar pulse to us, along with his request to be immediately relieved from command.”

“Because he allowed himself to be detected by another submarine, who may have recorded his acoustic signal and thus revealed our identity to the Chinese.” Komamura was sympathetic. “I can understand his distress.”

“Zaraki is very dedicated. He certainly was detected, although we are not going to relieve him. In this case, we don’t have to worry about our identity being compromised, because our analysts have identified the signal as coming from an American BQQ-5 sonar.”

“An American?” Komamura was surprised, which grew to shock as he considered the implications. “So not an attack. But then what?” It was distressing enough to discover an American submarine in the area, and near one of China’s vessels, but interfering in Kenryu’s attack?

“We were hoping your wisdom could give us some insights, sensei.”

“Please don’t use that word,” Komamura protested. “My wisdom hasn’t gained us much, and has set us all on a dangerous path.”

“Please,” Kubo persisted. “You are not so close to the problem. I have a theory, which my staff disagrees with, and I need another viewpoint.”

Komamura closed his own lunch box, long since finished, took the admiral’s, and threw them into the trashcan next to the bench. He stood, and the two men began strolling along the paths that twisted through the park. Ahead and behind, the security men who had watched them eat stood and walked as well.

Komamura sighed, working through the news as it followed its own path in his mind. Having heard about this just a moment ago, he needed to grasp all the implications. Finally, he replied, “An American submarine prevents a Japanese submarine from attacking a Chinese tanker. Has the world gone mad?”

“One fool on my staff suggested that Americans defending Chinese ships meant they had formed an alliance.”

Komamura stated flatly, “No. That gains the Americans nothing. I believe this is their response to us not properly answering their diplomatic note. The timing of the incident is consistent with this hypothesis.”

“Defending Chinese ships?” Kubo asked. “What does that accomplish?”

“Not defending them so much as frustrating us. It shows that they can’t be ignored, that they are involved whether we want them to be or not. Which was always true,” added Komamura.

“But it was your recommendation to not give an answer,” Kubo protested.

“And it still is. We don’t want the Americans joining the fight.”

Kubo said, “Eventually, the Chinese will have proof they can take to the world, and they will bring the war to our countries. When that happens, we might welcome the Americans’ help.”

“Both the Americans and Chinese have nuclear weapons. If the Americans were to become directly involved, and the course of the war favors us, as China faces defeat, she will become desperate. She could demonstrate her resolve to use nuclear weapons without actually striking the American homeland by using one of us as a target.”

The admiral paused for half a beat, before continuing to walk. “I had not considered that.”

“It is my nightmare,” admitted Komamura. “Our goal is to inflict crippling economic damage on China before they have a chance to strike back effectively. We must focus on that task, and continue moving forward.”

“So will the Americans continue interfering?” Kubo asked.

“It’s likely. Only experience can tell what effect they will have on Chinese losses. Have you decided what our subs will do if they detect an American submarine?”

“That’s easy. Definitely not fire at it,” the admiral replied. “That will be my recommendation to the working group. That, and send out more submarines to compensate for American interference.”

Komamura asked, “Have you made a recommendation about what we should do when China calls out the alliance openly?”

“Those plans are ongoing, but yes, a plan is in place.”

“Then please tell the working group my recommendation is that we continue as before.”

4 September 2016

1600 Local Time

PLAN Frigate Yancheng, Hull 546

Yellow Sea, South of Qingdao, China

Yancheng was only four years old, and Jiang Wu was only her second captain. She was sleek and clean in her light gray paint, with an angled superstructure designed to reduce her chance of being detected by hostile radars. She was armed with first-line missile systems to engage surface and air targets. But more to the point, she carried a helicopter and a towed array. The Type 054A frigates were the most capable anti-submarine platform in the PLAN.

Looming dangerously close, the tanker’s aft deckhouse blocked Jiang’s view forward and to starboard. Following the guidance of the experts at North Sea Fleet headquarters, Commander Jiang had tucked Yancheng in tight against the tanker’s stern.

Motor vessel Da Qing 435 was laid out like most tankers, with a long, low hull, a slightly higher bow, and a deckhouse at the stern, housing the propulsion plant, the crew’s quarters, and the bridge, all clustered in a single high superstructure. Hopefully, a submarine on a periscope approach wouldn’t notice the smaller frigate behind the deckhouse’s bulk. More important, the noise of the frigate’s engines should be hidden by the tanker. The Type 054As, designed with sub-hunting as one of their missions, had a quieter acoustic signature to begin with, while the tanker’s diesels sounded like a New Year’s celebration.

Thanks to the tanker’s noise, the frigate’s bow sonar was nearly useless, but the passive towed sonar array, streamed two kilometers astern, was working well. It was more sensitive than the bow sonar, and while the forward-looking beams would be filled with the tanker’s noise, the other beams that looked past the tanker were unaffected. That would give them their first warning.

Ever since rendezvousing with Da Qing 435 two days ago, Jiang had lived either on the starboard bridge wing or in the sonar cabin. The two ships had followed the shipping lanes along the China coast, first east, then curving north. Plodding at twelve knots, the tanker’s best speed, it would take another day to reach Dalian harbor and the oil piers.

He was sure Captain Xin was counting the minutes. He’d had no choice, indeed no notice, about being used as bait for the mystery submarines. Jiang’s frigate had simply shown up and taken station near the tanker’s stern.

It had been a tense, but boring two days. Three hundred meters between the two vessels sounded like a lot until you thought in terms of ship lengths. Jiang wasn’t worried about his Yancheng. She was a gazelle compared to that hippopotamus of a tanker, but if the tanker maneuvered without warning, his smaller ship would suffer the most. Although only a third longer than his frigate, the tanker was exactly twice his beam and eight times his displacement. Apart from the damage a collision might cause, and the failure of his mission, he’d have to shoot himself from the sheer embarrassment of it.

The winds were offshore, from the east, and the seas were relatively mild, just sea state three. Environmental noise, caused by wave slap and even breakers on the shoreline, mixed with the sounds made by fish and other sea life and the noise of engines from other ships nearby. This was called “ambient noise,” and the whisper of a submarine’s approach had to be picked out of this cluttered background.

Theoretically, the submarine had a similar problem, but the tanker’s engines were much noisier, plus the sub knew where to look. Jiang had worked it out several times. There was an even chance that their first warning of an attack on the tanker would be the sound of torpedoes in the water. That was why his two pilots had slept in the helicopter for the past two days, allowed out of the cockpit only for the demands of nature. Yancheng’s helicopter stood ready, fueled and armed.

Jiang had reviewed all the possibilities, drilled his crew, studied what little intelligence the navy had, and now could only wait.

It came while he was visiting the sonar cabin. The operator reported, “Contact, bearing zero four zero.” The “waterfall” display screen showed the towed array’s entire frequency range, left to right. Sounds at different frequencies showed up as bright lines along the top edge of the screen. Technically, there were two possible bearings, 040 and 340 degrees, but the second bearing pointed toward the nearby shore, so the valid bearing was obvious.

A moment later, the sonar took another sample of the incoming sound, and then another. Each sample extended the line, pushing the earlier sample down the screen. This created a “waterfall” effect. Random noise that appeared and faded quickly showed up as faint dots or misshapen blobs, but a constant sound showed up as a line, marching down the display.

It could still be a “biologic,” a school of mackerel warning of a predator, for instance. But man-made mechanical sounds tended to be narrow, sharp lines, while natural sounds were broad, even fuzzy. That’s why sonar operators went to school. Jiang had gone to the same school as his sonar operators, and then done another six months of theoretical work on top of that.

The operator listened carefully to the sound, as well as watching the distribution of acoustic energy on the computer display. He needed both senses to solve this problem. Classifying a contact was a slow, exacting process. They’d had dozens of false contacts that afternoon, each one analyzed and examined until it could be confirmed as “not a submarine.” This time, the operator was taking longer, and Jiang fought the urge to grab a second set of headphones. He could see the screen, and the line was narrow and very bright.

The rating looked up at his captain and nodded confidently. “It’s not natural.”

That was all Jiang needed to hear. He picked up the handset for the intership phone system and ordered, “Launch the helicopter and send it northeast. We’ll give them a precise steer once they’re in the air.” With that urgent task done, he ordered, “Put the crew at combat alert against submarines. Add that it is not a drill.” He’d run the crew ragged practicing, and he didn’t want anyone making foolish assumptions.

The sonar techs ignored the alarm klaxon and the bustle behind them as more people came into the space. As soon as Jiang hung up the phone, the tracking operator reported, “He’s tracking right, with a fast bearing drift. He’s close.”

Which meant he was close to firing. Jiang had no illusions. Any modern submarine’s sonar was going to be better than his equipment. If he could hear the sub, it was nearby. His only advantage was surprise.

Jiang ordered sharply, “Check the datalink.”

The tracking operator reported, “The link is up. We are sending.”

Jiang smiled approvingly. He picked up the phone again. “Warn the tanker, ‘Sub off your starboard bow, prepare—’”

“Torpedoes in the water, Captain!” Jiang could see the weapons appear on the display, three bright strong lines.

“ —belay that, tell him to turn now to… one zero zero, and warn our helmsman to watch for his stern!” Jiang had taken the time earlier to brief Captain Xin on torpedo evasion.

Yancheng had to steer a straight course, unfortunately. If she turned, the towed array streaming behind her would kink at the point where she turned, and be useless until it stabilized. He couldn’t afford to lose his primary search sensor for even a few moments, much less several minutes. Luckily, his ship wasn’t the target.

A rating stood at the door. “Helicopter is airborne.”

Good, things were happening fast, as they had drilled. Jiang acknowledged the report, then instructed the sonar team, “Watch for the sub’s signal to separate from the torpedoes. He’s not expecting an escort, so he won’t try to clear his firing point as quickly.” The operators nodded their understanding, already deep into the search.

Jiang stepped from the sonar cabin into the command center, now fully manned at combat alert. He found the helicopter controller, one of his junior officers, hunched over his display screen. “We don’t have a range yet. Run him straight down the towed array’s bearing and have him search at five kilometers.” Certainly the sub had been at least that far away when he fired. The controller acknowledged the order and began guiding the aircraft.

Jiang noted the time. Forty-five seconds since the torpedoes had been launched. It was unfortunate, but one useful piece of information would be the time it took for the weapons to strike their target. Most torpedoes cruised at roughly forty knots, or just over one kilometer a minute. The time of their detonation would give him a rough idea of how far away the sub was when it fired.

With the rest of his men, Jiang watched the time fall away, seconds passing as distinct moments. He glanced at the navigational radar. “Is the tanker turning yet?”

The phone talker passed the question forward to the bridge. “They’ve just started,” he replied.

Jiang shook his head. “Too late, far too late.” The trick was to be somewhere else when the torpedoes’ own sonars activated. If there was nothing in front of them, the weapons would have to circle and search, which dramatically reduced the chance of a hit. And while they circled, the target moved in the general direction of away. But the tanker, like all tankers, turned like a cement truck.

Running back up to the bridge, Jiang arrived to see the distance between the two ships growing slowly. Another reason for the turn was to get some separation from the torpedoes’ intended target. He didn’t want to be nearby, and in nautical terms, that was measured in miles.

He didn’t get miles. Luckily, Da Qing 435’s new course took her almost directly away from the frigate, but she was still a little less than a mile away when the vessel seemed to shake, as if she’d struck a submerged object. The water around her hull churned to a milky froth, then erupted in a white tower. It all happened silently, until the sound reached him a few seconds later, first as a deep rumble, then an explosive roar that staggered him and rattled the frigate’s hull.

The perfect geometry of the column was destroyed a moment later, when the second torpedo detonated. The force of the first explosion, just a little aft of amidships, had actually pushed the massive tanker up out of the water by a meter. Jiang could clearly see a band of red showing below the ship’s normal waterline. Now the second explosion, just a little forward of the first, pushed the tanker’s bow up even farther, so that the bow stem actually cleared the water for a moment.

Amidships, the ruin created by the two weapons extended well up from the waterline, and the ship began to sag in the middle, like a swayback horse. Thick coils of black smoke were starting to appear, and through binoculars he could see the crew struggling across the tilting deck to reach the lifeboats.

His first impulse, from years of training, was to get his own boats in the water and go to their aid, but he checked the thought almost immediately. He would have to stop to lower any boats, which would not only disrupt his towed sonar, but would also make him a sitting duck if the submarine chose to attack. First things first.

Jiang stepped back into the command center, checking his watch. Just over four minutes. Call it four and a half kilometers. Pleased with his close guess, he started to talk to the helicopter controller, when sonar announced, “The third weapon has missed the tanker. It passed underneath without detonating.”

So the turn had made a difference, just not enough. “Fine,” Jiang acknowledged, “keep tracking it, but don’t stop looking for the submarine.”

“Understood, sir.” The sonar rating turned to go back in the sonar compartment when a shout came out of the open door. “The third torpedo! The bearing drift is changing! It’s turning!”

Jiang felt ice form in his chest, but he quickly told the controller, “Keep working with the helicopter,” then turned and hurried toward the sonar space. The door was open, and he called, “Which way?” before he’d even stepped inside.

The answer, in a relieved tone, was, “Starboard, away from us!” and Jiang could breathe again.

Many torpedoes had “wire guidance,” thin wires that actually spooled out as the torpedo left the submarine. Miles long, the wire allowed the sub to see what the torpedo’s own seeker saw, and the launching sub could also steer the torpedo if the target maneuvered radically. In this case, the submarine captain knew the third weapon had missed, and was turning it back toward the tanker. Miles away and underwater, he didn’t know that the merchant ship was finished.

“Where’s the sub now?” Jiang demanded.

“Heading south, Captain, and speed has increased to eight knots.”

Jiang smiled. “Good, keep feeding those bearings to the helicopter—”

The other sonar operator, tracking the weapon, reported, “Sir, it’s still turning. It’s gone past an intercept course for the tanker, and is turning toward us!”

The guidance wire can break. If that happens, the torpedo automatically circles and searches on its own. But Jiang quickly discarded the idea. He couldn’t take the chance.

He picked up the handset again. “Bridge, increase speed to flank, turn us to starboard, and pass as close as we can to the sinking tanker!”

“Sir, the towed array…”

“Forget that! Do it now!”

Jiang didn’t wait for an acknowledgement, but hung up the phone, and hurried out of the sonar cabin, through the combat center, and onto the bridge. The sinking tanker, with black smoke pouring out of the hull, was swinging across his field of view as the deck officer turned the frigate hard to starboard. The deck, tilting with the sharp turn, vibrated as the screws tried to push the hull faster and faster.

“Steady us on… one one five,” Jiang ordered after taking a bearing, and the deck officer acknowledged with a worried look. Jiang knew his bridge watchstanders would be too cautious and pass too far away from the hulk. They’d hidden behind the tanker before, now perhaps the dying ship could absorb the torpedo meant for his frigate. The tanker would appear as a much larger target to the weapon.

“Sonar, what’s the torpedo doing?” he demanded.

“We’ve lost it on the towed array, but our bow sonar still sees it, sir. It’s headed straight for us. Very strong signal.”

He’d guessed right, then. Jiang stepped out onto the port bridge wing. The burning hulk loomed fine on the port bow, and Jiang tried to judge if he could steer closer. Yancheng was responding wonderfully, speed building from twelve knots, and was already past twenty-two. It was much more responsive than any tanker, but it still took some time for 3,800 tons of steel to accelerate. They had to close the distance between…

The deck officer put down the intership phone. “Captain, sonar reports the torpedo’s seeker has activated, and the weapon’s speed has increased!”

“Hard left rudder! New course back toward the weapon!” Jiang sighed. He’d lost the race. At attack speed, the torpedo would swim at forty-five knots or more. Their only hope now was a sharp turn inside the weapon’s arc.

Yancheng was continuing to accelerate, and the bow swung sharply to port, putting the tanker on the other side now. A cold wind cut at his face and tugged his clothes. He stepped back into the bridge and studied the plot, watching the angles. He ordered the deck officer, “Tell all hands to brace for impact!”

4 September 2016

1830 Local Time

Shinkansen Control Center, Kansai Region

Japan

The Japanese “bullet train” system is one of the most efficient and fastest in the world. With speeds close to two hundred miles per hour, trains operate on dedicated rail lines, separated from slower-moving freight and local trains. First operating in the early 1960s, the ever-expanding network has dramatically shortened travel times across the mountainous country, revolutionizing transportation and commerce in Japan.

Obata Takeshi had the duty at the Kansai control center when the trouble began. The three large flat-screen displays didn’t give any indication, and none of the communications staff had reported any problems.

The central display showed the Kansai region, his responsibility, in the south central part of Japan’s main island of Honshu. Heavily urbanized and populated, it holds Kyoto, Osaka, and many other major Japanese cities. The electronic map showed not only the cities and the rail lines, but could display local traffic, emergencies like fires, and even precipitation levels.

The position of each bullet train was updated constantly, using transmitters on the trains and sensors placed along the track. The Osaka–Tokyo line, one of the major runs in the system, could have as many as a dozen trains an hour in each direction, neatly separated by five-minute intervals.

The phone at the control desk connected to the first responders rang, and Obata grabbed it quickly. Nothing showed on the board, but it could be a drill, or a warning. “Obata, Kansai Control.”

“This is Battalion Chief Kawaguchi at the Fushima station. We’re rolling everything we’ve got. Who is the on-scene commander?” The firefighter’s tone was urgent, but professional.

“What?” Obata’s astonished question was loud enough to attract the attention of others in the center, and he punched a button that put the conversation on the loudspeaker. In the background, they could hear sirens and the roar of diesel engines.

“Who is in charge at the scene, dammit? We’re losing time. Can’t you people follow your own procedures? It’s bad enough we had to hear about this from civilians who saw the accident. I need to know if I should sound another alarm. Two—no, three trains, what is that? It’s over a thousand passengers per train.”

“Battalion Chief, I’m not showing any problems on any of the lines.” Obata’s confusion was obvious.

Kawaguchi replied quickly, “Your board is wrong. We’ve gotten dozens of mobile phone calls about trains colliding about five kilometers west of Shin-Osaka Station. At first, it was just two trains, but we’re getting word of a third train that’s plowed into the mess. And you don’t show any of this?” The firefighter’s question, shouted a little to be heard over the sirens, ran through Obata like an electric charge. The rest of the staff had the same reaction, and began furiously checking their systems.

Obata, thinking in terms of time and distance, shouted, “Emergency stop all trains to Shin-Osaka now! Call them on the secondary circuits!” Dozens of questions leapt into his mind, and he fought to control them. Did the trains’ conductors see what he saw here? If what Kawaguchi said was true, then the third train might be followed by a fourth, and others unless they could be warned off. “Don’t depend on the readouts! Get voice confirmation.”

“Can you tell me anything?” the firefighter demanded.

“Chief, you will have to be the on-scene commander, because I have no information here.” Hand shaking, Obata hung up the phone. His mind filled with images of cars full of people already dead if they didn’t get them stopped in time.

He turned to his deputy, Moritaka. The man’s face was as pale as the moon. “Take over. Call the regional director. Assume a major disaster, and a major communications failure. Get people busy finding out what’s wrong. I’m going to the scene to find out what’s happening. It should be only a few kilometers from here. I’ll report when I know something.”

4 September 2016

0600 Eastern Daylight Time

CNN Headline News

The anchor looked hurried, and although he spoke quickly, he kept his tone even and professional. “Good morning. Welcome to CNN’s continuing coverage of the crisis in the Pacific. We begin with the stunning announcement by the Chinese government that they have proof of Japanese involvement in the covert submarine campaign against their merchant tankers.”

As he spoke, images appeared on the screen and were replaced by new ones: maps, a burning tanker, a warship, and a submarine. “The Chinese have released an audio recording of a submarine attack on a merchant ship and escorting warship. Although both vessels were sunk, the acoustic signature was transmitted by computer datalink back to shore, which allowed it to be analyzed and classified as a Japanese Soryu-class submarine.

“The Chinese have posted the audio file on the Net, and several navies are examining the file, not only to confirm the Chinese accusation, but for evidence of tampering or falsification.

“The Chinese have also accused Vietnamese submarines of taking part, and have demanded both nations immediately cease attacks and agree to reparations, or face ‘the gravest consequences.’ The Chinese have also frozen all Vietnamese and Japanese funds in Chinese banks, and forbidden the trading of the yen.”

New scenes appeared, of a Chinese embassy guarded by Japanese police, almost surrounding the building, then a crowded airport full of worried travelers. “Chinese embassies in both countries are closed, diplomatic personnel are preparing to leave, and Chinese nationals have been instructed to leave immediately. The same situation applies to Vietnamese and Japanese nationals in China, which includes tens of thousands of tourists.

“Beyond these public announcements, reports and rumors of attacks are popping up over the entire region.

“Early yesterday, Philippine sources reported Chinese ships and aircraft operating near their possessions in the Spratly Islands, followed shortly by a total loss of mobile phone and radio contact. Ownership of the Spratlys is disputed by China, Vietnam, Taiwan, the Philippines, and other nations. Sources online have confirmed the presence of Chinese naval vessels, and probably Chinese troops there.

“The Vietnamese government has reported scores of aircraft attacks along its border with China, and ballistic missiles falling in both Hanoi and Haiphong, with deadly results. The government has ordered the entire country ‘mobilized to repel the Chinese invader.’ The Vietnamese claim to have shot down almost a dozen aircraft in the initial wave of attacks.

“And this footage was just received.” A tangled complex of pipes and storage tanks appeared, billowing with black smoke and surrounded by emergency vehicles. “This is Sinopec’s Guangzhou Branch refinery in Guangdong province. Witnesses reported seeing cruise missiles striking the facility, triggering massive explosions and fires, with heavy loss of life.”

The anchor paused, as if to draw a breath before continuing. “On any other day, this disaster would be the lead story. Hundreds of people have died in the first-ever fatal accident of the Shinkansen, the Japanese ‘bullet train.’ One train, at full speed, collided with another train inexplicably stopped in front of it. Before word of the accident reached the controllers, a third train slammed into the other two.”

The footage showed rescue workers in helmets and brightly colored vests moving amid tangled wreckage. It wasn’t recognizable as a train wreck until the view changed to a longer shot, showing the tracks and parts of the train still on track. Then the image shifted to show a Shinto priest praying in front of dozens of white-draped bodies. “Hospitals in the area have been flooded with casualties, and the total count of the dead and wounded rises by the hour.”

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

Kirkpatrick switched off the set. “That’s a good summary of what the rest of the world has to work with.”

Patterson, General Nagy, and Admiral Hughes all nodded. Nagy, the vice chairman of the JCS, asked, “Have we confirmed that the Japanese disaster was a cyber attack?” He was asking Kirkpatrick, but also looked at Dr. Foster, head of the CIA.

Foster answered, “Yes. The Japanese and our people came to the same conclusion. The control system was hacked. First it sent an ‘obstacle’ message to just one train, causing it to stop, but only that train. It then took over the communications network, suppressed all the real-time data, and replaced it with synthetic information. The controllers never saw any problems because they were looking at an animation.”

Patterson asked, “And the Chinese were behind it?”

“It’s likely,” Foster said. “Electrons usually don’t leave fingerprints, but we traced the hack back to a location associated with past operations run by the Chinese. Whoever did it had to be real good, because the Japanese network protections were top-rate.”

Kirkpatrick added, “We’ll see more of that in Japan now. They’re a U.S. ally, so the Chinese are pushing first covertly, to see if they can make Tokyo say uncle. We don’t have the details yet, but we think the Chinese are going to make some sort of move that will devalue the Japanese yen.”

General Nagy observed, “They don’t have that problem with Vietnam. That news report is the tip of the iceberg. The Chinese haven’t committed any ground troops yet; it looks like they’re taking a page from Desert Storm and pummeling the Vietnamese from the air for a while before they invade.”

Patterson asked, “How long before the Chinese cross the border?”

The general shrugged. “Soon, but they’ll want to make sure they have an overwhelming force before they attack. The Vietnamese are unlikely to cave in easily; they fought the Chinese before, back in 1979 and gave them a whuppin’. But in the meantime, the Chinese are inflicting a lot of damage with only moderate losses. That release from Hanoi didn’t mention that the Vietnamese have lost a lot of their own fighters trying to stop the Chinese raids.”

“And you were right, General.” Kirkpatrick smiled. “Dumb grunts can be pretty smart. EP-3 intercepts and satellite images show Chinese troops and ships all over the South China Sea, seizing islands and reefs that have been disputed territory. They’re concentrating on ones with airfields, so this is only wave one. Intel has been backtracking the movements of Chinese units, now that we know where to look, and they’ve been prepping for months.”

“And the Vietnamese mined the carrier to disrupt the operation,” Patterson concluded.

“Except it didn’t,” Kirkpatrick explained. “Beijing pressed on. But now that we know who started the ball rolling, the president can get to work. He will see the Chinese ambassador later today. And in the meantime, the State Department is advising U.S. citizens to get out of China and all the countries bordering it—basically, most of Asia. Who knows where trouble is going to pop up next?”