Shattered Trident

18. EXPANSION

8 September 2016

0800 Local Time

The White House

Washington, D.C.

Milt Alvarez had to pull the president out of a meeting with his economic advisors, so everyone knew it had to be important. Myles trusted his chief of staff, who refused to explain, except to say that he had a special visitor, and Secretary Lloyd was also en route.

That was useful information. The secretary of state’s presence meant foreign relations, and Myles felt a little bit of the tension leave. His private nightmare was a surprise meeting with a television reporter, armed with an exposé and a cameraman recording every moment.

Several people were waiting in his secretary’s office, but Evangeline quickly shooed them off when Myles appeared with Alvarez in trail. Both were moving quickly, and just nodded in passing to Myles’s faithful gatekeeper.

The Oval Office was empty, and as Alvarez closed the door behind them, he explained, “Ambassador Leong is in your private study. We brought him in through the west entrance. Only half a dozen people know he’s in the building, and I’ve sworn them to secrecy. We had five minutes’ notice of his arrival on what he described as a ‘secret and vital matter.’ Alison’s in with him right now.” Alison Gray was deputy chief of staff.

“Where’s Andy?” the president asked.

“At least ten minutes away,” Alvarez sighed. “He had that speech at Georgetown this morning.”

“That’s too long,” Myles decided. “Let’s not keep the ambassador waiting.”

The presidential study was not small, but it was much more private than the Oval Office. It had a desk, where Myles actually did a lot of his work, and several overstuffed chairs.

Ambassador Kenneth Leong was chatting with Alison Gray as Myles opened the door. He immediately put down his teacup and stood, while Gray faded back and made a quiet exit. Myles knew she’d be right outside, in case either of her bosses needed anything.

“Mr. President.” Leong bowed deeply. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, with so little warning, but this was necessary for security reasons.”

“Mr. Ambassador, you are always welcome here.” Myles didn’t bother wheeling out his Mandarin skills. Leong had started the conversation in his flawless English, and they continued that way.

With Leong’s mention of security, Alvarez turned to leave the two men alone, but Leong stopped him. “There is no need for Mr. Alvarez to leave, if he can keep a secret for another fifty-three minutes.” The ambassador smiled, but it was strained.

Myles motioned for them to take seats, and Leong gratefully sat down again, with the president close by on his right. Alvarez stood near the door, as if to guard against eavesdroppers.

Even as they sat, Leong began what had to be a carefully rehearsed speech. “Mr. President, at 9:00 A.M. your time today, which is 9:00 P.M. in Taipei, President Lee will announce that the Republic of China is abandoning its state of neutrality and joining the Littoral Alliance.”

Myles stared at the ambassador, absorbing the news for a moment, before speaking. “I can see the need for secrecy.”

Nodding toward Myles, Leong explained, “We felt obligated to notify our longtime American friends, but at the same time we cannot let Beijing learn of our decision until our preparations are complete. Our armed forces have been at combat alert since the Littoral Alliance began its submarine campaign, but we have taken extra steps.”

Leong’s explanation had given Myles the time he needed to organize his thoughts. “Mr. Ambassador, are you sure that this course of action is fully supported by your entire government? Once you’ve done this, any chance of a peaceful accommodation with Mainland China will be gone forever.”

“With respect, Mr. President, our ‘peaceful accommodation’ with the mainland has turned the Republic of China into an armed camp. And what do we have to look forward to? Hong Kong has shown us the value of Beijing’s promises. No, the Littoral Alliance is winning, and the sooner it is victorious, the better. A humbled mainland will give us the freedom that they will not now.”

Myles shook his head. “That may be true, but she is not defeated yet. My intelligence people have noted that the military units across the straits from your country have remained in place.”

“We have been watching those same units for a long time, Mr. President. They are a hollow threat, and may be more defensive than offensive. Fully involved in one war, with her economy near breaking, she will not embark on any new adventures. I am sure the United States military will not be needed to defend our security.”

“We have been guaranteeing that security for decades,” Myles observed.

“But the situation is changing. The Littoral Alliance is on the path to becoming a new superpower, with its roots and interests in Asia. We belong with them. And we will remember who supported us for so long. But I agree, Mr. President. Beijing will not ignore us. While there will be inevitable damage, in the long run, we feel this is the better choice.”

Leong stood suddenly. “I must excuse myself, Mr. President. I have other calls to make before nine o’clock.”

As Myles stood, Leong produced a folded document and handed it to Myles. “As partial recompense for the distress our actions will regrettably cause, this is a list of Chinese agents we know of operating covertly in your borders. The information is reliable. The sources that provided it have been withdrawn. We are ‘burning our bridges.’”

Myles took the document carefully, almost reluctantly. “I wish I could agree with your reasoning, Ambassador Leong.” He reached out to shake the ambassador’s hand, and said, “Please be assured of America’s continued friendship, and our best wishes for the future of the Republic of China.”

They both then bowed, and Alvarez escorted the ambassador out.

Myles sat quietly, considering the implications this move would have on an already volatile region. He didn’t have long to wait before there was a quick rap on the door, and Alvarez opened it for a breathless secretary of state. “Milt said the Taiwanese ambassador was here.”

Myles nodded. “They’re joining the Littoral Alliance.”

“Crap.” Lloyd’s face fell. “Think the Chinese will leave them alone?”

“Not a chance.” Myles glanced at his watch. “He’s given us forty-eight minutes. Let’s not waste them.”

8 September 2016

2200 Local Time

Littoral Alliance Headquarters

Okutama, Nishitama District

Tokyo, Japan

The Hirano estate included a garden, more correctly a forest glade, but beautifully tended. Komamura had been encouraged, no, commanded by Admiral Kubo and several others to take time there at least once a day. He was spending too much time indoors.

Now he sat on a roughly carved stone bench, sharing tea with the new Malaysian minister. Someone different seemed to show up every evening at about the same time, offering to walk with him and chat about anything other than the war or economics. Minister Azhar was a rabid soccer fan, but Komamura barely followed the sport…

“Sensei!” Komamura heard her voice before he saw her. She was still calling excitedly when she turned a corner and found them. It was Miyazaki, flushed and excited, and wearing another shapeless tracksuit. “Sensei…” She stopped to bow deeply. “Please excuse me, sensei, Minister. Please come to the dining room right away. It’s very big news!” Barely allowing time for the sound waves to reach them, she ran off, presumably in search of other unsuspecting victims.

“We’d better go back,” Azhar suggested, and the pair headed for the main house.

They could soon hear excited voices, then staff and other alliance functionaries greeted them with broad smiles, and urged them toward the dining room.

The large central room had been filled with tables. A wide-screen television at one end of the room was kept on the news, normally with the sound muted. Komamura could hear the set now, though. “… have taken this action in the belief that Mainland Chinese aggression can no longer…” They were speaking in Chinese, but he could see the text at the bottom scrolling in English, and on the right side in Japanese.

As he stood in the back, someone recognized Komamura and urged him forward. Kubo and Hisagi both spotted the commotion around him and waved. Advancing silently and half crouched, he discovered they’d saved a space for him in the center front, almost too close to the screen. At the back of the room, people continued to pour in, and he could sense an air of celebration. Had the Chinese abruptly surrendered?

Kubo saw the question in his expression and whispered, “The broadcast started exactly on the hour, 9:00 P.M. in Taipei.” Kubo stopped and smiled. It was the happiest he’d ever seen the admiral. “They’ve joined us, sensei! Taiwan is joining the alliance. Our encirclement is complete!”

Hisagi leaned over from the other side. “I just heard from the communications department. Their delegation to the alliance is already en route. They’ll be landing at Narita in a little over an hour!”

Ever since he’d realized that the alliance might actually come to be, Komamura had struggled with the question of Taiwan. Normally, the more members that belong to an alliance, the stronger it becomes. And Taiwan not only had a small, but capable navy, it had economic power, and was a major trading partner with both Mainland China and the West.

But Beijing still considered Taiwan a “rebellious territory,” part of China. It had long been accepted that if Taipei ever formally declared independence, it would trigger a long-dreaded invasion of the island. This was worse than mere separation. Taiwan had joined in a war against her “mother country.” Beijing would—must—react.

By joining, Taiwan added her military power, economic power, and political power to an already complex set of simultaneous equations. Komamura didn’t think anyone truly could comprehend how all the variables would work together—he certainly did not. How would the results from those equations change?

The professor watched his colleagues. Kubo was almost euphoric. Why couldn’t he share their excitement? All he could see was the danger. Suddenly weak, he sat back in his chair, forcing a smile and trying to follow the subtitles. Information. He needed to know the details.

The Taiwanese minister had finished his prepared remarks, and was answering questions, still in Chinese. The image shrank to an inset and was replaced with two Japanese analysts. Komamura listened to them repeat the obvious facts for a few moments, but then one held up a map of the western Pacific. Tracing arcs with a pen, he drew a single line from Indonesia in the south to Hokkaido in the north, all of it controlled by the Littoral Alliance.

China’s access to the open sea was now completely blocked. She’d tried to seize the resources in the South China Sea, with future designs on the East China Sea. Instead, those two and the Yellow Sea were now war zones.

It was getting harder to find worthwhile targets at sea for the alliance forces to destroy. They’d already started attacking China’s oil processing infrastructure on land, but while the professional military figures agreed with the revered academic publicly, he sensed it was begrudgingly.

The urge to go after military and political targets would become even stronger, now that the alliance had added another three countries to their ranks. The combined militaries of the alliance would not want to wait for the inevitable effects on the Chinese economy. They would ask for new targets, new ways to inflict pain on their enemy.

On the screen, the two journalists were interviewing another journalist about the chances of China suing for peace, now that the Littoral Alliance had grown so strong. Economically, the clock was ticking. The big unknown was the determination of the Chinese leaders. “If they do the math,” the guest was saying, “they know they can’t win. But the men in charge may not want to hear that. They have too much to lose.”

Kubo was right. Taiwan was the final straw.

8 September 2016

2130 Local Time

August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

Chen almost lived in the conference room now, so he’d seen the broadcast almost from the beginning. None of the CMC members were ever far from a television, and unlike most of China, they could watch the uncensored transmissions. Chen knew this news would be blocked. China’s censors did not have to wait for permission to block foreign media.

He wasn’t sure how the ordinary Chinese citizen would react. The party spoke of Taiwan as a wayward child, misguided, lured astray by foreigners. Disappointed, but always hopeful that eventually she would realize how wrong she’d been and would return to the loving arms of her true mother.

It would be well not to push the “mother and child” analogy too far, Chen realized, because it was the way of the world for children to leave their parents.

The chairman of the Central Military Commission and the president of China shook off his musings, as if regaining consciousness. The others seemed as shocked as him, most sitting silently. General Wen was calling urgently to an aide. General Shi was writing furiously. As the head of the political department, he would be most affected. He looked angry.

Other members of the commission started to arrive from their offices elsewhere in the building. Not everyone was there, of course. The announcement had caught them by complete surprise, which meant uncomfortable questions for General Xi Ping, chief of intelligence. They hurried in, asking questions that brought the rest out of their stunned silence.

Vice Chairman Zhang spoke first. “Why do I feel betrayed?”

“It’s because Taipei initially declared neutrality,” General Su explained. “I was relieved then. It meant one less enemy, and at least one possible path out for our trade. But after that traitorous announcement, I feel it as well.”

Shi had stopped writing, and his angry expression had softened. He spoke sharply. “Before the war, if Taipei had done this, we’d be ordering military action. Comrade Vice President, your anger is well founded. Taiwan saw which way the wind was blowing. Her neutrality helped us, to some small degree, withstand the alliance. That will now be turned against us as she tries to hasten our end.”

Zhang asked, “How will this news affect the population? How will they react?”

Shi shrugged. “I’ve been a political officer for thirty-four years, and all I’ll predict is that it won’t be to our advantage.” Shi paused for just a moment, then added, “Comrade President, members of the council, the Political Department recommends that we break all connections with the Internet immediately. As we sit here and discuss the effects of Taiwan’s defection, the rest of China is doing the same thing.”

Some at the table rose in protest, but Shi waved them down. “I understand the value of the Internet in commerce and government, but this stream of bad news is damaging the morale of the people.”

Instinctively, Chen agreed. The Chinese-controlled media was censored, of course, and her cyber security services blocked the great majority of objectionable sites. But it was impossible to completely block word from outside her borders, not with the Internet. And worse was the citizenry using it to talk among themselves. The CMC was well aware of the role that social networking had played in the collapse of other governments.

There was plenty for them to talk about. Hunts for foreign spies, industrial sabotage, the losses at sea, and now energy shortages all powered the rumor machine. The new fuel rationing system was already corrupt, rife with hoarders and profiteers.

Protests and riots were endemic, with no relief in sight. Ethnic groups like the Uyghurs in Xinjiang province and Tibetans were restive. Dissidents throughout the country were quick to claim that the communist party’s ambitions in the South China Sea had started the war. The information supporting that argument had come from outside China.

General Shi was still explaining, but Chen cut him off. “Comrades, I believe General Shi is right, and becomes more right with each passing moment. Does anyone else wish to comment?”

A few shook their heads, and others muttered their agreement with Shi.

Chen waited for a full minute, then said, “General Shi, your recommendation is accepted. Will you please give the necessary orders?” Shi nodded and left quickly, almost at a run. Chen was sure it was the right thing to do, but why did it feel like another loss? Damnit, he was still shaking off the news about Taiwan.

General Su, the chief of staff, stated flatly, “We have to change our grand strategy.” When there was no immediate agreement, Su explained, “I’m a soldier. We’re trained to make an estimate of the situation, evaluate possible courses of action, and then choose the best one. My estimate of our situation is that we are losing this war. The trends are all in the wrong direction. What do we do about this?”

Chen answered him. “There are only two choices. We either agree to a cease-fire, which amounts to a surrender, or escalate.”

There was dead silence in the room as the others absorbed the idea. Chen reasoned, “We must evaluate both courses before we choose. Adopting either one has benefits, and costs.

“To remove the risk of anyone being accused of disloyalty or defeatism, I will discuss the benefits of a cease-fire. The damage to our economy stops. Oil begins flowing again. The losses of equipment and men cease. What are the costs, Comrades?” He gestured to the others at the table.

Zhang said, “Unbelievable loss of prestige. The world would accuse us of being a failed superpower.”

“The failure of Trident,” General Su added.

“But the plan has already failed,” General Ye Jin countered. “We will never be able to exploit the South China Sea’s resources, as we had planned.”

“We could use a cease-fire to mobilize and reposition our forces, then aim for a more limited objective,” General Wen suggested.

Su quickly shook his head. “It won’t work, Minister. Trident depended on surprise, on getting strong forces in place before our opponents could react. I don’t think anyone here truly appreciated just how vital a factor surprise was.”

Zhang added, “And we didn’t expect such a unified response. The sudden appearance of the Littoral Alliance has completely changed the political calculus in this region. If we had known of its existence, would we have even started the operation?”

“That is not the issue, Generals,” Chen insisted. “What are the costs to China of a cease-fire?”

Zhang looked thoughtful. “I’ve already mentioned the loss of prestige abroad. Domestically, we face widespread unrest. Energy supplies will be tight this winter, even if we restart imports immediately. Many industries are damaged, and our export markets will be lost for years, perhaps a decade. Unemployment, especially in the cities, will rise sharply.”

“The best we can all hope for, personally, is resignation,” Chen observed, “followed by a retirement in disgrace. That may not be the end of it, though. The next government will be looking for ways to assuage the citizens’ anger. Accusations of criminal conduct and show trials are one method of placating the masses.” Chen had stated the uncomfortable truth. Nobody expected justice in China, unless it served the party’s purposes.

“Our economy crumbling, our citizens angry, the world turned against us. Regardless of my own fate, this is not what I dreamt of for China.” Zhang’s voice was hard. “If this is the aftermath of a cease-fire, then we must keep fighting.”

“But we cannot win,” Su reminded him. “The South China Sea is lost to us.”

“Then we change the war,” Zhang explained. “Instead of three or four countries, we are fighting an expanding coalition that now encircles us. We must recognize our new situation.”

Chen asked, “Then what is our goal? How do we win?”

Zhang replied, “We bring enough force to bear to make them ask for a cease-fire, on our terms. We demand free passage of the ocean straits and removal of all economic sanctions.

“They haven’t faced our full power yet. We’ve limited ourselves because of the military ties some countries have with the United States. We know America doesn’t want this war. There’s pressure in the American government to renounce the treaties. Let’s call the alliance’s bluff.”

“We change the war,” Chen repeated, testing the idea in his mind. “A full range of attacks against all alliance members, short of nuclear weapons. We remove the restrictions we’ve placed on our submarines. Allow them to attack any alliance shipping—it won’t matter that they’ve disabled the automatic identification system. Any ship approaching an alliance port will be attacked. And we withdraw from the territories in the South China Sea we’ve captured.”

“That was one of the alliance’s demands,” Su reminded him.

“The garrisons on those islands have been under constant siege. They can only be supplied by air, which costs fuel we can’t spare. They are also at considerable risk from Japanese fighters staged in the Philippines.”

Su nodded his agreement. “You’re right. They can be sustained only with great effort, but cannot not be expanded, or exploited for further gain. What about Vietnam?”

“I see no reason to suspend that campaign,” Chen replied. “Indeed, with the cancelation of Trident, we should be able to allocate more resources to that front. And where is General Hu?”

An aide left, in search of the Second Artillery commander. Chen said, “I remember his briefing argued for missile strikes on Japan, South Korea, and the Philippines. He can now add Taiwan to the list.”

8 September 2016

1310 Local Time

North American Air Defense Directorate

Peterson Air Force Base

Colorado Springs, Colorado

They’d been on high alert since word had come from Washington about Taiwan’s decision. Not that they hadn’t been on high alert before, with half the Pacific shooting at the other half.

“Heaven help us, they went and did it!” the controller announced, hitting the audible alarm and calling the duty officer. “Multiple launches from within China!” He didn’t even try to count the dots on the screen. The computer kept track, but the number kept climbing. Finally, he reported, “I’m seeing sixty-plus launches.”

The duty officer, a major, didn’t wait to see where they were headed. They wouldn’t know that until after boost phase ended, a couple of minutes from now.

“Make sure PACOM’s seeing this,” the major ordered as he picked up the red phone. “This is Major Markowitz at NORAD. I have flash traffic for the NMJIC duty officer.”

8 September 2016

1315 Local Time

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

Ray Kirkpatrick was keeping vigil when the word arrived. When he phoned the residence, Myles answered after one ring.

“It’s happened, Mr. President. Multiple Chinese ballistic missile launches.”

“Do we know where they’re going?” Myles asked, sounding resigned.

“Not yet, sir. It’s too early.”

Myles appeared in the situation room five minutes later, dressed in maroon sweats that had UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO printed on the shirt. The call had caught him just as he was getting ready to go to the gym.

Kirkpatrick greeted him with, “None of them are headed for U.S. territory. Targets are in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and the Philippines. NORAD says they’re DF-21s.”

The president nodded an acknowledgement as he studied the display. “That’s one nightmare avoided, then. Where will they hit first?”

Kirkpatrick pointed to a window on a side display. “Taiwan. Time of flight is six minutes. They’ll be hitting about now.”

“Taiwan’s got Patriot,” Myles observed.

“Yes, Mr. President. I was reviewing their order of battle. Eight batteries on line, with PAC-2 and PAC-3 missiles. And three Sky Bow batteries.”

As they spoke, the display operator zoomed the view in so that the island of Taiwan filled the screen. Nine hostile missile symbols crawled in from the west. Their apparent slow speed was deceptive. Much of their movement was in the vertical plane.

Projected targets appeared, and Kirkpatrick called them out. “Two at Tsoying Naval Base where their submarines are berthed. Three at the BMD radar on Leshan Mountain, and… the Mailiao oil refinery. Four missiles headed there.” Surprise filled his report.

“Payback. Makes sense.” Myles’s tone changed to puzzlement. “What’s happening? Shouldn’t the defenses be engaging them?”

“Yes, sir, they’re just in range.” One hostile missile headed for the sub base disappeared, then another, but that was it. As the two watched, the remaining seven symbols merged with their projected targets, then disappeared.

“I don’t get it.” Kirkpatrick’s tone mixed worry and confusion. “The display showed at least three batteries in range. Only one engaged. The sub base is untouched, but the other two targets…”

“Find out what happened,” barked Myles. “If the Chinese have put a hex on our interceptors, we need to find out.”

Kirkpatrick turned and started walking quickly toward the watch floor, when Myles’s voice called him to a stop. “And Ray, get our submarines clear of the area. This war is now beyond our abilities to stop.”

9 September 2016

0211 Local Time

JDS Atago (DDG-177)

Off the Noto Peninsula, in the Sea of Japan

Captain Okubo Atsushi checked his watch and smiled. Four and a quarter minutes to battle stations manned and ready. Of course, they had good reason for being so quick.

Okubo picked up the shipwide PA microphone. “This is the captain. Our national air defense network has detected ballistic missiles fired by China, headed for targets across Japan. They will enter our engagement range in a little over a minute. We are the first line of defense. Center your thoughts, do your jobs. Today you will all be heroes!”

“Sir, Seasnake Two is airborne.” The helicopter controller’s voice came over his headset.

“Tell him to watch for suspicious surface craft, as well as submarines.” Okubo had been flying the rotors off his two helicopters since they’d assumed this station. He was uncomfortable with the “bathtub” he’d been assigned, a box on the map just ten miles square. Warships were designed to move. Staying in the same area while radiating his radar nonstop was an open invitation to the Chinese.

But it was necessary. The central display was zoomed well out, showing the entire Sea of Japan. Okubo could see not only his ship, but also Myoko to the north and Ashigara to the south, their missile coverage overlapping to protect all of Honshu and Shikoku, and part of Kyushu. He’d asked for, and been honored with, the center station: the hot spot, guarding Tokyo. Unfortunately, to prevent gaps in the coverage the defending ships were glued to their stations.

Lieutenant Takagi, the missile officer, reported, “Our radar has detected the missiles. We have a good track.” The hostile symbols on the display shifted slightly as the secondhand data from the air defense network was replaced by information directly from the destroyer’s own SPY-1D radar. Atago could have fired using the other sensor data, but this was better.

“Radar detects five targets. Engaging closest three.” Takagi’s voice was even. He had said those words hundreds of times in synthetic exercises. Okubo depended on that familiarity now.

“Use standard firing doctrine.” Takagi acknowledged the order with a nod. The system would assign two missiles to each target. In full autonomous mode, the Aegis fire control system would fire automatically when the hostiles were in range.

The only limitation was that they only had three illuminators, so their first salvo would only engage three of the five possible targets. A second salvo would go after the other two, plus any stragglers from first engagement, but it would follow ten seconds later, and the hostiles would be farther downrange.

“Captain! Seasnake’s radar has multiple high-speed contacts, inbound! Range forty-seven nautical miles, bearing two nine two.”

Okubo looked at the display. Datalinked from the helicopter’s radar, four “unknown” contacts had appeared on the screen, but he could see the symbols move across the display, much too fast for a surface vessel. The helicopter’s surface-search radar beam was pointed down. Normally it wouldn’t even see aircraft. These were clearly air contacts, but they must be skimming the surface.

How fast? It took the computer two beats to get enough information to calculate the speed, and numbers appeared next to the unknown contacts. Almost six hundred knots. Large, subsonic, but no radar emissions? Were they cruise missiles? But fired from what? Then they disappeared from the display. Okubo’s insides turned to ice.

Normally, Atago could deal easily with aerial contacts like these, whatever they were, but the Aegis fire control system was in ballistic missile defense mode. It couldn’t engage aerodynamic contacts at the same time as ballistic missiles, and the Chinese were taking advantage of that. And he couldn’t shift from aerial targets to ballistic missiles and back quickly enough to deal with both threats. He was committed.

“Launching in thirty seconds.” The missile officer’s voice was steady, focused.

“Tell Falcon flight to radiate and engage,” Okubo ordered quickly. The unknown contacts were very low, and still over Atago’s radar horizon. Falcon flight, four F-2 fighters silently loitering at high altitude, was only ten miles to the east. They were high enough to see the intruders as soon as they lit off their radars.

A siren on the weather decks sounded, loud enough to be heard even in CIC. The controller announced, “Ten seconds,” and Okubo reflexively braced himself, although there was no need.

The first missile’s roar was background for the air controller’s report. “Falcon flight’s radars are on.” After a moment’s pause, “They have our unknowns—classified as Flankers. Falcons are firing.” All through the narrative, Okubo could hear Atago launching SM3 missiles, each roar following another at one-second intervals.

The four air contacts reappeared on the screen, now labeled as “hostile aircraft.” They were accelerating, and climbing. “Still no radar emissions from the aircraft,” the air controller reported.

The last of six SM3 missiles left Atago, roaring toward the incoming hostile missiles.

Okubo saw new contacts on the display at the same time the air controller made his report. “Four new, very small contacts, evaluated as missiles. Range to Atago twenty-five nautical miles.”

Okubo immediately ordered, “Falcons, engage the new contacts.” He told the CIC crew, “Stand by missile defense stations. Stand by chaff.” As he gave the last order, Okubo realized he still hadn’t seen any radars from the hostiles. Of course they didn’t need radar to find him, not with his SPY-1 energized. And the threat must be anti-radar missiles, homing in on his radar’s signal. He was right to have Falcon flight shift targets.

Anti-radar missiles wouldn’t care about chaff. They simply homed in on the SPY-1’s radar signal, using it like a spotlight. And he couldn’t turn the radar off because his own SM3s needed it to find their targets.

Another roar echoed outside, the beginning of the second salvo, another six missiles following ten seconds behind the first.

The Chinese Flankers had turned away, diving back down to low altitude now that they’d launched their missiles. One of them suddenly disappeared, and the air controller reported, “Splash one.”

Okubo felt no joy in revenge. The incoming missiles were fast; labeled now as Kh-31Ps, speed Mach 3. He knew his air cover had shot at them, but it was a four-way race now.

“Splash one, splash two!” The missile officer’s near-shout was overtaken by a rattling sound. Atago’s Phalanx point-defense guns firing. One long burst from each, then a second burst from the forward mount.

He had to see. Okubo left CIC and ran forward, but as he stepped onto the bridge, the windows were suddenly filled by black smoke laced with orange streaks. He’d felt no shock, but now there were metallic bumps and bangs, as if someone were throwing rocks, large ones, at Atago’s side. The doors to the bridge wing were open, and acrid smoke made them all cough.

Holding on to the doorframe for support, he fought for air, and finally cleared his lungs. Looking up, he saw the night sky outside the bridge.

The bridge phone talker reported, “Captain, damage control says we’ve taken a secondary hit. Ship control is good, but the radar’s been hit!”

There was nothing to do here. He was back in CIC in moments, but many of the displays were dark. The main display still showed the tactical situation, but it was all secondhand data.

“We missed the last two, sir,” Takagi said, upset, almost shaking. “I’m sorry, sir. The radar went offline before the terminal seekers were in range. The secondhand data wasn’t as accurate, and we only splashed one more missile. Air defense was watching, they’ll engage with Patriots soon.” He was breathing hard, fighting for control. “I should have—”

“Forget that. What happened to the radar?” Okubo demanded.

“We lost two radar faces to fragments. The datalink showed missiles from Falcon flight splash two of the Kh-31s, and our Phalanx systems got the other two, but one was so close we got caught in the fireball.”

“Sir, those missiles were aimed at Tokyo.” Takagi was staring into space. “If…”

“No,” Okuda said sharply. “It couldn’t be helped. You did well. And whatever will happen is already under way.”

9 September 2016

0215 Local Time

Littoral Alliance Headquarters

Okutama, Nishitama District

Tokyo, Japan

There was no siren. They hadn’t been there long enough to have a warning system installed. Instead, every cell phone, tablet, and computer suddenly beeped, buzzed, and rang while displaying the simple message: Take cover immediately.

Komamura’s shelter was in the house, but farther back, where the structure burrowed into the hillside. It was solid rock, they said, and would withstand anything short of the unthinkable.

The shelter had been used for storage until quite recently, and even as he’d hurried in, staffers were shifting boxes and cartons to make more room for the thirty-plus people, most of them in pajamas, crowded into a space the size of a large bedroom.

In deference to his rank, or age, or both, Komamura had been ushered to a fairly comfortable spot in the far corner, farthest in and farthest from the door. Sitting on a sturdy crate, he waited with the others, his back leaning against the cool rock wall. It had already become stuffy, and he could only wait for— What? An explosion? An all-clear?

The air defense people had promised them about fifteen minutes’ warning. According to his cell phone, the alert had been sent almost that long ago. It had taken them far too long…

There. He felt a sharp, sudden movement in the rock behind him, and for a moment he thought of earthquakes, but it lasted only a fraction of a second, and then the sound reached them all a moment later—a deep, hard, boom loud enough to prevent speech, if the surprise and fear hadn’t stopped it anyway. There was no sensation of blast, but a little dust fell from the ceiling.

A few people tried to speak but were hurriedly shushed, as if to not attract attention. The all-clear signal, like the alert sent to everyone’s cell phone, made most of them jump, then laugh nervously. Everyone started to file out, and some made space for Komamura to go ahead of them, but he waved them on. He was comfortable, and suddenly reluctant to leave his place.

He was the last to leave, and had planned to head straight back to bed. Instead, a commotion in the hall outside carried him forward to the front of the house. Shouts and sirens prevented him from asking any questions, and he finally worked his way into the open.

A hundred meters away, on the hillside, a missile had struck. The impact point was easy to find by all the blown-over, burning trees. There was a lot of smoke, and small fires littered the nearby blast area. Helmeted rescue workers in bright-colored vests were already working with fire hoses to stop them from spreading.

He was still working to grasp the force of the explosion. A DF-21 supposedly had about a half-ton warhead. If that had stuck the building…

“Sensei!” It was Miyazaki, running again, but tearful and breathless. There was a dark, shiny patch of blood on her blue tracksuit, and the alarm must have shown on his face, because she quickly stopped and shook her head. “No, sensei, I’m fine, but the admiral…” That was all she could say before her legs gave out.

With Komamura on one side and a staffer on the other, they lowered her to the ground. She sobbed, then pointed, back toward the explosion. “The storage shed, they were in there.”

Komamura knew she meant another one of the shelters, separate from the main house, but solidly built, with rock walls and a timber roof. Admiral Kubo had been in that shelter, along with many others. Hisagi was in a third. They’d collectively decided that if the alliance headquarters were attacked, no country should have its entire delegation in the same shelter.

He noticed rescue workers now, reflective white vests marked with red crosses, running around to the far side of the estate. Some of the staff headed in that direction too, but the professor stayed put. He didn’t want to see.

Breathing carefully, Miyazaki spoke softly. “It was the closest shelter to the blast. After the all-clear sounded, I ran over to see how they were, but there was no shed, just rubble with the roof collapsed on top. We tried to pull it off, and some of it came away in pieces. Then I found Admiral Kubo, or at least I could see the top half of him. The rest was buried, and he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes were open…”

She started shivering, and the professor found himself putting an arm around her shoulders. He intended to comfort her, but he found some strength in it as well. “There were more people killed, I think, and everyone in there must have been hurt. I’m sorry I didn’t stay to help. I don’t know first aid and when I saw the admiral I just panicked.”

“It can’t be helped, child.” Komamura stood, then helped her to her feet. “We must move forward. Go change your clothes, then find Minister Hisagi for me. I’ll wait here.” Blinking and still sniffling, she bowed quickly and ran off. By the time she came back, he’d have thought of some other chore for her.

Keeping busy was the best tonic. He tried to do the same thing, making a list of tasks, but found himself tripping over the first item: notifying Kubo’s family. His wife was dead, but he had three children. But could they even release such news? Wouldn’t the Chinese brag about such a thing?

His thoughts jumbled together. The oldest was a girl. Natsuki. She lived outside Ueda. As he tried to remember the other two children’s names, Kubo’s face and voice filled his memory and the tears came.

9 September 2016

0130 Local Time

41st Group Army Forward Headquarters

10 km South of Pingxiang, Near the Vietnamese Border

Lieutenant General Luo Shi found his chief of staff waiting outside the communications tent. “If we have to go tonight, are we ready?”

Qu Ding almost saluted. “Yes, sir. Everything is in place.”

“Good, because General Su himself just gave me the order. Get the staff together. I’ll speak to them in five minutes, but get word to the first-echelon units now. The infiltrators and engineers have to step off within the hour.”

The ground campaign for Vietnam was under way.