Shattered Trident

14. CONFRONTATION

5 September 2016

0600 Eastern Daylight Time

CNN Headline News

“The Indian naval base at Visakhapatnam was attacked last night in a major assault by Maoist terrorists. First appearing in the late 1960s, the movement is especially strong in the southeastern state of Andhar Pradesh, where Visakaphatnam is located.”

Images of Indian uniformed security forces, heavily armed, appeared, followed by corpses arranged in a row, their faces covered. All were dressed in ragged civilian clothes and spattered with blood. Automatic rifles were neatly arranged at the feet of each one.

“The attacks began shortly after dark, when small groups of gunmen charged police stations and an army barracks near Visakhapatnam with rifle fire and grenades. The attacks were not pressed home, but lasted for several hours.”

The scene briefly shifted to a map, showing the location of the two bases halfway up India’s east coast, then back to a dark scene with armed men running. Lit by searchlights, a high wall in the background was stained and marked by explosions, and the camera occasionally shook as the operator ran, with gunshots echoing nearby.

“The real targets were revealed twenty minutes later, when the naval bases at Visakhapatnam and nearby Rambilli were each swarmed by as many as a hundred men. Visakhapatnam is the Indian Navy’s largest base on the east coast.

“At both locations, terrorists outside launched distracting attacks while infiltrators, already inside the perimeter, used heavy weapons, including rocket-propelled grenades and satchel charges. At Visakhapatnam, they attacked the ammunition magazines, and managed to get through the perimeter defenses, but were stopped short of the ammunition bunkers.

“Rambilli is a separate naval base located some twenty-five miles south of the main base, and is the home port for INS Arihant, the Indian Navy’s first indigenously produced submarine. At that base, Maoists overpowered the guards on the pier and planted explosive charges near the submarine’s stern and propeller. Video of the rebels at work was transmitted during the attack, and showed divers with snorkels near the back part of the submarine, then soon after pulled from the water.”

Good-quality video matched the description, with men in diving gear working while others on the pier pointed spotlights down onto the water. Occasional shots could be heard in the distant background as the rebels shouted to each other. After the divers were clear, the camera view shifted to a more distant view of the submarine and the pier, followed by explosions and a spray of water.

“Launched in 2009, Arihant underwent an extensive period of sea trials before being commissioned in the Indian Navy in 2013.

“The Indian Navy has not released any photos of Arihant since the attack, although it claimed the damage was ‘limited to the after-part of the vessel.’ They also claim that over fifty Maoists were killed and an undisclosed number wounded or captured. Thirteen Indian security personnel were killed, and another twenty-three wounded.

“In a related story, several nations, including Brazil, Germany, and Iran, have all submitted resolutions to the UN general assembly calling for an immediate cease-fire in the conflict to avoid further loss of life and disruption of trade.”

5 September 2016

1700 Local Time

Maritime Staff Office

Shibuyun District

Tokyo, Japan

There was no need for secrecy anymore, but it still felt strange to simply walk into the headquarters building. The guard at the main gate to the compound phoned ahead after seeing the professor’s identification.

There were more guards now, armed with assault rifles, patrolling the grounds and clustered around the entrance to the main building. One checked his identity again, but after he nodded, two more by the main entrance opened the doors and snapped to attention.

The building’s lobby was spacious, and decorated not only with the Japanese flag and the naval ensign with its familiar red-on-white sunburst, but with a new crest—for the Littoral Alliance. It showed a circular blue field with four stylized warships sailing in line abreast, trailing long white wakes. Each was in a different color, to symbolize the four nations, and the group was turning in formation to face north.

He had only a few seconds to study it before he noticed a square-faced commander standing near the entrance. He came up and bowed deeply. “Welcome, Professor Komamura. I am Commander Sato. The admiral is waiting for you upstairs.”

Admiral Kubo was waiting alone in his office. He motioned Komamura to a chair, but did not offer tea, and barely let the professor sit before saying, “I wanted to tell you before we went to the brief. It’s official. The Taiwanese will declare neutrality at noon.” He said it as flatly as possible, but his expression made it clear he considered it bad news. When Komamura didn’t reply immediately, he added, “It may be for the best.”

Finally, the professor said, “It leaves a large gap in our campaign to encircle China.”

“You sound like a military man,” Kubo remarked. “But as a military man, even I can appreciate the political risks if Taiwan joined the alliance. It could push China over the edge, and force them to act immediately.”

Komamura nodded. “It was the smart move for Taiwan. If we prevail, she can join later. And if we don’t, America still guarantees her security, at least in the near term. For the long term…” The professor shrugged.

“Has the working group drafted a response to the UN?” Komamura sounded worried. “If we stop the campaign before enough damage has been done, this will have all been a waste.”

The admiral shook his head. “There will be no ‘official’ response. We have friends who will delay the motion for as long as possible, and even if it passes, the alliance will simply ignore it. But it makes your trip all the more important,” Kubo observed. “We need to end this conflict quickly. If we can get Indonesia, Malaysia, or Singapore to join us, our grip on Chinese seaborne trade will be nearly total.” Kubo smiled broadly at the thought.

“It will help politically, of course. What matters is the oil,” Komamura insisted.

“With the Indian blockade in place, we’ve already turned off that spigot, Professor. We have to look for other ways to inflict pain on our enemy.”

“By widening the war.” Komamura sighed tiredly.

“Let’s go to your brief,” urged the admiral. He led the elderly academic into a briefing theater, half full.

Commander Sato was among those waiting. Kubo said, “With your approval, Commander Sato will accompany you, as your ‘secretary.’”

Komamura turned and gave the officer a closer examination. In his forties, and almost as tall as the professor, he seemed eager. “If he has your endorsement, Admiral, then I am sure he will do very well.”

The commander bowed deeply. “It is an honor to work with you, Professor. I will work hard to earn your trust.”

Komamura bowed in return, but replied, “We will have to see how much honor this war leaves us. I put myself in your hands.”

A small woman in her twenties stood next to Sato, dressed in green-patterned fatigues and gleaming black boots. “This is Captain Yoruichi of the Special Forces Group. She will be in charge of your security detail,” Kubo explained.

Komamura tried to hide his surprise. “I hadn’t expected a security detail at all.” To himself, he thought, I have a niece older than you.

“We will do our best to stay out of sight,” she said softly. She bowed, and a ponytail tied high on her head bobbed.

The professor also bowed slightly. “Please take good care of me.”

Kubo explained, “They will sit in on your briefing.” He glanced at the wall clock. “We’d best get started. Your plane leaves in four hours.” He nodded to a staff officer while he motioned Komamura to a seat.

5 September 2016

1700 Local Time

Vietnamese Frigate Ly Thai To, HQ-012

West of Spratly Island, South China Sea

The battle was still going on. The Chinese just didn’t know it yet, and if Trung was lucky, they wouldn’t find out until it was too late.

The bright afternoon sunshine did not lend itself to concealment, but the beachhead was over a hundred kilometers away, on Spratly Island. Resistance had ended about an hour ago, with the last voice transmissions describing deadly airstrikes by helicopter gunships and naval gunfire.

Captain Trung Hu had listened to the radio transmission with tears in his eyes. They were too late. The Chinese had secured Spratly Island, and captured the all-important airstrip. Intelligence said that a container ship accompanied the task force, loaded with air-defense weapons, supplies, and equipment. The Chinese would turn it into an all-weather air base capable of supporting a squadron of Flanker fighters.

His squadron had raced to the scene, but the landings had started two days earlier and the garrison just couldn’t hold on. He’d been forced to listen helplessly to the increasingly desperate calls for assistance. They were almost two hundred kilometers out when the last transmission came through.

He hadn’t known the officer speaking—an army captain, but he’d been brave and defiant, and now Trung had to honor his sacrifice. The race for the island was lost, but Trung had adopted a new strategy.

Trung’s ship was a new Russian-built Gepard frigate. Ly Thai To had only been commissioned in 2011, and it was well armed, with a 76mm gun, anti-ship cruise missiles, torpedoes, even a Ka-28 helicopter on a pad aft. She and her sister were the two biggest and most capable ships in the Vietnamese People’s Navy, and Trung was proud to be her captain.

For this operation, he’d actually been made a commodore, in fact, if not the actual rank. A squadron of Molniya missile patrol boats had been placed under his command. They were smaller than his frigate, but they were also well armed.

He could see them now, not in a neat formation, but in a very ragged line abreast, with his ship in the center. Any spit-and-polish naval officer would throw a fit at such poor station keeping. Each ship was on a different course, although all tended eastward. Each ship was at a different speed, although none was slower than eight knots, or faster than sixteen.

Aside from his own ships, he could see half a dozen other vessels, a mix of scruffy little fishing boats and larger coastal freighters, all going about their business. This part of the South China Sea was thick with coastal freighters and fishing craft. The war, if they were even aware of it, was over the horizon, and they hoped it stayed there and left them alone. Some of the fishermen waved to the warships as they passed.

Trung could see some boats with Vietnamese flags; others were Filipino. He didn’t see any Chinese vessels, and while nobody would ever mistake his gray-painted squadron for coastal freighters, on radar they would look the same as the civilian craft, and he made sure they acted the same.

To see them at all, an observer would have to get within twenty kilometers or so, and about half that to “classify” them, or identify them as warships. Trung was working hard to make sure that the Chinese never came that close.

He stepped off the bridge wing, through the bridge, back to the command center. The cramped space was filled with equipment and men, wherever there was a place to stand. Three were clustered around the plotting table; all that would fit. One was the radio talker, another the recorder, and the third was Lieutenant Commander Mai, his executive officer. Trung didn’t even try to ask Mai a question. He just watched as the recorder called out rapid-fire bearings from the other ships in the squadron. The recorder quickly copied them down, and Mai busily plotted them on the display.

Although his ships were all fitted with radar, every set was off and red-tagged to stay that way. Radar could help a ship see hundreds of kilometers away, but it also sent out a signal that told anyone who wanted to listen exactly what direction you were in, and what type of radar you were using. In the empty expanse of the ocean, that information was very useful to an enemy.

Trung didn’t need radar to know where the Chinese were, and they didn’t care who knew. Given they’d invaded Spratly Island, concealment had been overtaken by events. The ships in the Chinese task group had lit off everything they had—air search, surface search radars, scanning the sea and sky for threats. Mai was using those signals to track the Chinese ships’ positions.

Each one of Trung’s ships had a Garpun-Bal or Monolit targeting system with a high-resolution passive radar receiver capability, and as they scanned the frequency spectrum, they passed the bearings of the different Chinese radars to Trung’s frigate, the flagship. Cross-bearings from two or more ships revealed the Chinese ships’ exact positions.

The Vietnamese surface group wouldn’t be close enough to be detected by Chinese shipborne radars for some time, but the Chinese had also launched a search helicopter. Its primary mission was to patrol for submarines, but it had its own search radar, and its close approach half an hour ago had made Mai the busiest man in the South China Sea.

It was a Kamov Ka-28 “Helix,” and Trung was very familiar with its capabilities. A nearly identical machine sat on Ly Thai To’s fantail. The VPN operated the same model, with the same sensors. Like the Chinese surface ships, the signal from its “Octopus” radar allowed Mai to plot its much more rapid movement.

Doing his best to avoid distracting Mai, Trung leaned over to study the electronic plot. They were at the edge of the helicopter’s detection range, which was good news. It had been closer for the past ten minutes, and Trung could only watch and hope the radar operator was too busy looking for periscopes.

Helicopters were too fast for a ship to outrun, and because they were higher than a ship’s mast, they could see farther. The sea surface didn’t offer any place to hide, so the only course was to pretend to be something other than a warship, and hope that they would not attract the radar operator’s interest.

“It’s headed southeast, Captain,” Mai reported triumphantly. “Look here.” He pointed to a cluster of dots some seventy kilometers away from the island in their direction. “My plot shows him dipping five times in that sector, just like the one before.”

There were several clusters of dots, and as the helicopter darted from one sector to another, the dots marking its positions began to describe a circle centered on the island a hundred and fifty kilometers across. A much smaller circle, only forty kilometers in diameter, showed the positions of the Chinese destroyers and frigates as they patrolled their sectors. Near the center, right next to the island, two stationary symbols marked the big amphibious ship and the container ship anchored alongside, while the rest of the task force encircled them protectively.

“How soon can we increase speed?”

Mai answered immediately. “Now, sir. He’s opened the range to a hundred kilometers from us, and he’s moving away at one hundred forty-five knots—his maximum speed.” He smiled. “We won’t catch up.”

“And you’re sure it’s a southerly course,” Trung asked.

“Absolutely,” Mai confirmed, nodding.

“Good, then tell all units to increase speed to twenty-five knots with less radical course changes. And tell ‘Miss Tham’ to continue straight south.”

“Right away, sir.”

Trung was back out on the bridge as the helmsman advanced the throttle. It felt good to speed up, now that it was safe to do so, but there was no point in racing toward the Chinese at flank speed. In addition to his five ships, and “Miss Tham,” their own support aircraft was inbound. All their movements had to be coordinated with an uncooperative Chinese helicopter. Everything had to be timed very carefully.

And the Chinese task force, tied to the island, wouldn’t stay there forever. The amphibious assault ship had used helicopters and air-cushion landing craft to carry troops and armored vehicles to the island, while the destroyers provided artillery support. With their conquest secure, the ship was now ferrying back the wounded and any troops that would not be part of the permanent garrison.

Trung knew the defenders had left booby traps all over the island, and especially on the pier. Those would all have to be cleared away, but once that was done, and the container ship docked, the task group would leave and his chance would be gone with them.

Mai stepped out onto the bridge wing, facing the wind and stretching. He saw Trung’s worried look and reported, “The chief has taken over watching the plot. The helicopter is heading to a southeastern patrol zone. No other changes. And our ‘air support’ has arrived. I wish it was something more potent than a patrol plane.”

Trung smiled. “Right now, over half the People’s Air Force is pummeling the Chinese base on Woody Island. It’s true we don’t get any fighters, but the Chinese won’t get any, either. Would you like to have an air battle right over our heads? Hard to make a stealthy approach.”

Mai laughed. “It’s broad daylight, our ships are roaring east at twenty-five knots, and we’re being stealthy?”

Trung laughed with him, then said, “That’s enough fresh air. Get back in there and make sure we stay hidden in plain sight.” Mai saluted and left.

5 September 2016

1730 Local Time

PLAN Destroyer Lanzhou, Hull 170

Near Spratly Island, South China Sea

Admiral Sun Lin had decided to make Lanzhou his flagship, even though the amphibious ship Jinggang Shan was fitted with a flag plot. He’d visited the landing ship and inspected the facilities before they sailed, but he knew that once the operation started, his attention would be pulled to the island and the thousand problems even a successful landing would present. He’d let General Tian and his staff, in charge of the marines, take over the spaces.

For Sun, the threat lay in the other direction, toward the open sea. The bare horizon was not reassuring. It was only forty-five kilometers away, but the enemy had missiles that reached three times as far. Lanzhou’s own weapons had even greater range, but he had to find the enemy before he could kill them.

And what did the bright blue surface hide beneath it? The greatest danger was from submarines, which had already wrought so much damage to his country. But his task group was not made up of defenseless merchant ships. They had sonar and anti-submarine weapons, as good as any in the PLAN. But he’d been in the navy too long, and watched too many Chinese submarines infiltrate formations, to ignore the threat.

By rights, he should have had two helicopters working the screen, but he’d lost two machines during the landing, one to gunfire and the other to a shoulder-fired SAM. A third had blown a compressor stage in one of its engines, and could not be fixed at sea. He could only afford to keep one aloft, busily darting from sector to sector, hurriedly searching in each with its dipping sonar.

And even without an enemy in sight, there were still problems.

The radio talker called, “Admiral, I have Colonel Xu on the radio.” Xu was the air force commander of the base on Woody Island.

Sun virtually snatched the handset from the junior officer’s hand. “This is Sun. What’s your situation?”

“We’ve got the fires out, Admiral, and we’re working to clear the wreckage,” the colonel reported happily.

“I don’t care about the fires, Colonel. When will your runway be operational?” Sun demanded.

“Sir, some of the fires were on the runway, and another threatened my ammunition storage. Now that they’re out, my ordnance people are making the area safe. Then we can start repairs to the runway surface,” he explained. “It will take another six, perhaps eight hours.”

“That’s unacceptable. The standard for repairing damage in a battle is two hours. You know that.”

“Sir, this is a forward base. A regular air base has far more heavy equipment and personnel. The Vietnamese scattered air-dropped mines all over the place, and the wrecked planes can’t be removed until the mines are cleared. I’m using unqualified personnel to assist my ordnance specialists already. After that, I’ll use every able-bodied man to make the runway serviceable, but it will take at least six hours, and that assumes nothing else happens.”

Sun forced himself to listen, then simply said, “Very well. Keep me informed,” and slammed the handset into its cradle. No air cover, while his ships were still committed to defending the beachhead. This was when they needed Liaoning, and when he missed her the most. Damn the Vietnamese for crippling the carrier. And the enemy had to know they were here, had known since they’d launched the assault two days ago.

The radio operator stood quietly, trying to look attentive while avoiding the admiral’s direct gaze. Unhappy admirals could be more hazardous than the enemy.

“Contact General Tian and find out how much longer it will take to clear those demolitions.” Sun’s tone made it clear he wanted to get some good news.

Ly Thai To

Trung checked his watch and keyed the intercom. “Check the helicopter’s position again.”

Mai replied instantly. “Sir, he’s been dipping in the northeast sector of the outer screen for five minutes. He’s eighty kilometers away from Miss Tham, and slightly farther away from us.”

It was what Trung wanted to hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. Not yet. “Tell Miss Tham to get ready.”

“Right away, sir.”

“And tell our boatswain to put up our battle ensign.”

“Yes, sir!”

Trung stepped out on the port bridge wing and looked aft. A sailor was already standing next to the main mast. The wind tore at his clothes, but he stood, bracing himself against the ship’s motion, and waited.

The signalmen appeared just a moment later with a red bundle. While one rating held it, another clipped it to the signal halyards, and then hauled away. The small package flew up to the top of the forward mast, about twenty meters above the main deck. The second signalman now pulled on a cord wrapped around the package and trailing down from it, and a red flag with a bright yellow star burst open, fluttering tightly in the twenty-five-knot wind.

It was the same naval ensign that Ly Thai To normally flew, but that flag was less than a meter long. Their battle ensign was three times that size, and the color stood out vividly above the gray-painted warship.

Trung heard a few cheers from the bridge, as well as some improbable suggestions involving the Chinese and seagulls. The other sailor had hauled down the smaller ensign, and was carefully folding it.

He checked his watch again. That had taken two minutes, and it was still far too soon to hear back from Miss Tham. He looked out to the northeast. She was as close as they’d been all day, perhaps fifty-five kilometers away. That was still well out of visual range, of course. He wouldn’t see her, even when she launched. Of course, neither would the Chinese.

Trung had given her that name, although she actually had two others. The first was Dong Du, a medium-sized Vietnamese-owned container ship. The second was Ora Bhum, which was the name she would answer to if challenged by the Chinese. It hadn’t felt quite right to use the alias, but Trung was reluctant to use the container ship’s real name, even on his own ship.

Ora Bhum matched the size and configuration to Dong Du, and the freighter had even been repainted in the other ship’s colors, with the false name in white on the bow and a Singaporean flag at the stern.

Her cargo was a battery of Bastion coastal missile launchers, four vehicles each carrying two Yakhont supersonic anti-ship missiles. Lashed securely to the deck, they’d been hidden by the shells of cargo containers cannibalized to serve as camouflage. The deception was good enough to withstand even a close visual inspection.

It would take the freighter’s crew more than a few minutes to remove and discard the covers. This was the period of greatest risk, but the helicopter was the only Chinese unit that could expose them, and it was too far away.

The Russian Yakhont was faster and newer than the 3M24E Uran missiles his own ships carried, but it was also far larger. None of the VPN’s ships could be fitted with them, especially once the crisis had begun. But Vietnam had already purchased the land-based launchers from the Russians for coast defense. Now they were at sea, in a lashed-together arrangement that wasn’t pretty, but would work.

Even though the Yakhonts would be launched after his Uran missiles, the subsonic Urans would arrive after them. In the low trajectory mode, the Yakhont cruised at Mach 2.0, giving the target only moments to react as it came over the horizon. The Yakhont’s seeker package was also much smarter than the Uran’s. It could be set to home in on the signal from one specific type of radar, like the Dragon Eye radar on a Chinese guided missile destroyer. And to top it all off, as the Yakhont attacked, it maneuvered, making it a harder target than the straight and steady Uran.

Trung had time to review the tactics, and all his choices, several times as he waited for Miss Tham’s signal. They should be done soon, but the camouflage had been improvised. Was there a problem with the wind? Had the camouflage damaged the launchers or the missiles in transit, or as it was being removed?

The intercom came alive and Trung ducked back into the bridge. He’d been expecting Mai’s voice, but not his report. “Sir, our patrol aircraft reports the container ship has probably weighed anchor. She is no longer stationary. Speed is three knots and increasing.”

“Tell Miss Tham they’ve got five minutes, and recalculate the time on target.”

Mai answered quickly, “Understood.”

Trung tried to put himself on the merchant ship’s bridge. They did not have the acceleration of a warship, but all they needed was to get to ten knots or so. The wind had them facing west at anchor, and he would have to turn to sail around to the south side of the island, where the pier was located. Once the island was in the way, one of Trung’s two primary targets would disappear. But merchant ships turned slowly, especially at low speeds. Was there time to reprogram the Uran missiles on his ship? If he added waypoints…

“Sir, Miss Tham is ready, all launchers at the vertical. If we launch in sixty seconds, she launches sixty seconds after that.”

That matched his own rough calculations. Trung ordered, “Launch in sixty seconds, then.” He released the intercom key, then stepped over and closed the door to the port bridge wing. A watchstander on the other side did the same thing with the starboard door. As Trung dogged it down, a siren howled, loud even over the wind.

Trung stepped over to a small console next to the captain’s chair. As he waited, a large red button, engraved in white letters with PERMISSION TO FIRE, lit up. He immediately pressed it, holding it down for the required count of three, then walked over to the intercom. “Permission to fire confirmed.”

The Uran tubes were located midships, in the gap between the stack and the after mast. Even muffled by the wind, and through the closed doors, the roar of the rocket motors was loud, and seemed to go on forever.

Missiles burst out from the launch tubes at three-second intervals, climbing and immediately turning sharply east. A rocket booster, with a flame as long as the twelve-foot missile, burned for a moment before the missile’s turbojet engine took over. At that distance, Trung could only make it out as a small black shape, skimming the water.

The frigate’s eight missiles were all gone within ten or fifteen seconds, by his watch, and as Trung undogged the starboard door, the missile officer’s voice came over the intercom. “Launch successful, all eight weapons functioning normally.”

Trung used his glasses to check the Molniya missile craft closest to him, HQ-375. She was still launching. The Molniyas carried sixteen missiles instead of eight, in four quad launchers on either side of the ship, and each missile appeared on a column of flame as it erupted from the launcher, followed seconds later by the next one. The wind of the ships’ passage swept the exhaust off the ships’ decks, but it formed a billowing gray smoke trail behind each vessel. The beginning marked when each ship had started firing, and its abrupt end showed when it was complete.

A radio speaker on the bridge let him hear the reports as the four missile craft reported successful launches. Keying the intercom, Trung ordered, “Mai, execute turn to two two five, all ships flank speed.” They’d done their duty for the Socialist Republic, and now it was time to look to their own welfare.

Lanzhou

Admiral Sun was still speaking to General Tian. With the pier cleared, the container ship would dock, and Tien had sufficient troops to unload it, so…

“Low-altitude contact to the northwest! Missile alert!”

“Engage!” That order had come from Lanzhou’s weapons officer, and almost before he finished saying it, Sun heard the roaring forward as the destroyer’s vertical launchers rapidly salvoed air-defense missiles. Seconds mattered.

The radar operator passed information without wasting time on extra words. “Forty-five kilometers, eight contacts, supersonic! Speed… 1,320 knots—Mach 2.” The operator was speaking quickly, but the attackers had already covered half the distance to the ship during his report.

Sun watched the display, symbols moving almost too quickly to follow. Their outbound interceptors were even faster than the attackers, and the two groups came together as if pulled by strings. A string of characters appeared next to the hostile missiles—“Yakhont.” Sun grimaced. He knew what that meant, and could only hope they were lucky.

Three, then four of the oncoming missiles disappeared. It was a good result, out of five engaged, but there was no time for another salvo.

A harsh rattling sound carried through the bulkheads. The ship’s 30mm point-defense gun had opened fire, and a BANG! from the bow showed even the 100mm gun was firing, for all the help it would be. Again, no order had been given after the first one. There was no time…

Someone called “Brace!” and Sun tried to comply, then discovered he’d already done so. He barely had time to think about finding a better position when the first shock came, a crash that turned into a rumble under his feet. The deck jerked suddenly, but that was all, and Sun was starting to think about damage control when the second and third missiles slammed into the ship within seconds of each other.

This time the shock was brutal enough to knock Sun and everybody else to the deck. A pressure wave passed over him, and the stench of burning metal and plastic made him cough, then gag. One deafening crash followed another and another, and his mind gave up trying to understand what was happening.

The crashing stopped, but was replaced by a roaring sound—it was a fire, a big one, and close by. Sun could also hear screams and moans, and then metal bending and tearing, as if under great stress.

Sun pulled himself up, first kneeling, then standing, although a sharp pain ran up his left leg into his back. Battery-powered lights were the only illumination, making white beams in the haze. He could still see through the smoke, although his eyes burned.

The admiral drew a breath, coughed, then drew another and managed to croak, “Everybody topside.” Most looked at him dumbly, and he said, a little louder, “We’re finished here.”

Ly Thai To

The report from the targeting systems matched the patrol plane’s exactly. At the same moment the aircraft’s radar showed the incoming Yakhont missiles reaching one of the Chinese destroyers, the signal from the Dragon Eye radar had abruptly ceased. “The contact also appears to be slowing,” the radar operator reported.

Trung let them cheer for a moment. The linchpin of the Chinese defense, a Type 052C guided-missile destroyer, had been disabled. Perhaps it would sink, if they didn’t beach it on the island. It might limp home and eventually be fixed. But it was out of the fight.

Their own Uran missiles were only moments away.

Trung moved to the Monolit console. The combat center was much less crowded now, since they didn’t have to track the Chinese formation so closely. Instead, they watched the radar picture data-linked from the aircraft, and compared what they saw with the Monolit operator’s report.

At this point, Trung was as much a spectator as the rest of his crew. He’d made all the decisions before launching his missiles. All that was left was reporting the results and defending his ship.

“I’m getting new radars,” the operator reported. “Type 354, Type 344G, Russian MR-123 radars—those last ones are point defense.”

Mai pointed to a pair of blips. One was the stricken destroyer, the other a missile frigate. “That’s the only ship directly in their path. For everyone else, our missiles will be crossing targets.” A missile passing across a ship’s line of sight, instead of holding steady, was harder to shoot at—much harder.

With the most powerful missile ship out of action, the patrol plane had been able to get closer to the formation. Its radar was sharp enough to actually provide rough images of the different ships, and could see the Uran missiles as they closed. It was also smart enough to identify ships by class, and labels appeared next to different blips as the radar’s computer identified the vessels: two Type 054A missile frigates, a Type 052B missile destroyer, the Type 071 landing ship, a Russian-built Sovremennyy guided missile destroyer, the container ship, and two older frigates, not counting the crippled destroyer.

His eyes were on the two targets: the landing ship and the container ship. Altogether, his force had launched seventy-two missiles, an unholy amount of firepower. He’d been tempted to use part of them to attack the frigate, but it was a moving target in its patrol zone. The two primaries were stationary, or had been, and that made for easier targeting. The moving container ship was a worry, but with luck, it would not have time to get too far from the aim point.

Trung knew they wouldn’t be able to see the defender’s fire, but he could watch their Uran missiles disappearing, as defending missiles and guns had their effect. The Type 054A had a good SAM system, and it was well placed. The Urans wouldn’t attack the frigate because Trung had ordered the missiles’ radar seekers to stay off until they were past the ring of defending ships.

He tried to count, and quickly lost track. He knew that analysts would play these recordings later and count the losses, refining their estimates of the Chinese weapons systems. All he cared about now was seeing enough missiles reach their destination.

He saw an older frigate in between the missiles and the container ship. It was close enough to absorb some of the missiles. Had the captain done it deliberately?

By rights, he needed only four or five missile hits on each target to cripple it, but he didn’t want to just cripple them. Crippled ships could be repaired, their cargo salvaged. He wanted to destroy the invaders. Killing the entire formation would not be enough to satisfy him, but killing the two largest ships would be a good start.

“Captain,” Mai pointed to the radar screen, “the helicopter has disappeared.” His voice was full of concern. “How long has it been gone?”

“It didn’t land,” Trung remarked. It hadn’t approached a ship. That meant it must have climbed to a higher altitude. The Vietnamese patrol aircraft’s radar was designed to detect ships and aircraft close to the sea surface. The Chinese Helix was above the radar beam now.

“Find the helicopter’s radar! Plot its position!” Trung ordered. People scrambled around the plotting table, setting up the tracking team again.

The missiles reached the center of the formation, and Trung cheered inside every time a small radar blip reached one of the ships. “That old frigate is absorbing some of the missiles meant for the container ship,” Mai observed.

“Just find the helicopter!” Trung ordered, although the climax of the battle was hard to ignore. Clusters of blips raced toward the ship symbols and disappeared. The amphibious ship had its own point defenses. Had those missiles been shot down? Or had they reached their target? The container ship was defenseless, but the old frigate guarding her was serving much the same purpose by absorbing some of the missiles.

The radar receiver operator reported, “I can’t find the helicopter’s radar signal. It’s gone.” There was no emotion in the report. He didn’t understand what it meant. The Chinese knew that their opponents could detect the radar signal. Now Trung had no way of finding its position. Their enemy’s move was obvious: fly down the launch bearing, then snap on the radar to search for their now-fleeing attackers.

But how far would it fly? In which direction? The Chinese knew the maximum range of the Uran, but could they know that Trung’s ships had fired from much shorter range? Trung turned on the intercom. “Bridge! Double the lookouts. Keep your eyes peeled for a helicopter.”

Trung’s ships were running west at flank speed. His top speed was twenty-seven knots, but the Molniya boats could make almost forty-three, and were already several kilometers ahead. That was fine. There was no security for them in a formation.

Run, or slow and mimic fishing boats again? If they could get far enough away from the Chinese warships, then they’d be out of missile range and they could thumb their noses at the helicopter.

But it had only been a few minutes since they’d launched, then turned. The Chinese YJ-83 missiles had almost double the range of his Urans. It would take hours at flank speed to be completely clear.

“Captain, we’ve picked up the Octopus radar again.”

“What bearing?”

“Northeast, on our starboard quarter,” the rating reported.

Trung waited while Mai quickly plotted the bearings from several of the ships in the squadron. It was a neat fix. “The helicopter is about fifty kilometers aft.” Mai’s voice made it clear he understood what it meant. It had them.

Trung cursed his indecision. His heart was made of lead, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He should have ordered his ships to slow, then searched for the helicopter. Now it was too late.

He noted the time. It would take a minute for the helicopter to report, then another minute, maybe two, for the Chinese missiles to be programmed and launched. “Tell the formation, ‘Man air-defense stations,’” he ordered.

He tried to do the math while he watched the time. Even with a destroyer and that old frigate knocked out, there were at least five ships fitted with eight cruise missiles each. Their warheads were about the same size as the Uran’s, but while it had taken more than a few missiles to knock out each of his targets, one missile hit would be enough to cripple his small frigate. And a single hit would severely damage, if not sink, the even smaller Molniya craft.

He counted the seconds, then it was time. “All ships, turn left ninety degrees now. Energize all radars.” If he’d timed it right, the Chinese missiles were in the air, and it was time for a vigorous zig away from their flight path. They were subsonic, so he expected to see them in about a minute and a half at the radar horizon.

“All radars active, Captain, all air-defense stations manned and ready.”

One minute.

Trung said, “Prepare to engage air targets to port.”

The gunnery officer repeated his order. Ly Thai To didn’t have any SAM systems, and the guns could not open fire until the last moment.

Thirty seconds. Trung left combat central and went onto the bridge. All eyes were on the portside horizon. Normally he’d reprimand the deck officer, but there was open water ahead of them for miles.

He started to step out onto the port bridge wing, but remembered the Palma weapons mount just forward of the bridge. It had two rotary 30mm cannons, and when it fired, the noise would be brutal.

Any moment now.

“Radar reports high-speed contacts bearing zero seven three!” A moment later the intercom added, “Eight missiles.” The radar operator’s report was immediately followed by Mai’s command. “Chaff.”

Dull thuds amidships would have been alarming if Trung was not familiar with the sound. Explosive charges were firing cartridges filled with reflective material into the air. Hopefully, the missiles’ seekers would find the cloud a more attractive target than his frigate.

The missiles were across the horizon now, but how far away could you see a missile, head-on, with a diameter of what? Less than half a meter? He couldn’t remember exactly. With a turbojet engine, there would be no smoke trail…

“There, on the port beam!” The lookout’s warning triggered a fusillade of fire. The Palma system roared, like a giant’s chain saw cutting metal. Bright flames a meter long leaped from the muzzles. The 76mm gun on the bow thudded once, twice. Trung knew there was another rotary 30mm aft adding its own fire to the others.

Streams of tracers reached out, and that gave him a cue to his own search. They were also much closer now, and easier to spot. A puff of smoke several kilometers out marked the destruction of at least one missile. Was the chaff having any effect?

The first missile reached Ly Thai To a few seconds later. The warhead waited a few milliseconds after hitting, so that it penetrated inside the ship, rather than exploding on the outer hull plating. The explosion tore a hole ten meters in diameter amidships a few meters above the waterline. The damage was severe, but if that had been the only attacker, Ly Thai To might have survived.

Then the other three missiles arrived, at three-second intervals.