Shattered Trident

25. END GAME

15 September 2016

0900 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

They’d held the memorial service for Santa Fe early in the morning, just before the squadron sailed. Who could say when the four boats would all be in port at the same time again? And everyone needed to begin healing. As important as their mission was, it would keep for a few hours.

There were far too many people for the base chapel. The submarine crews, minus their duty sections, from North Dakota, Texas, North Carolina, and Oklahoma City, and the families from Texas, Oklahoma City, and of course Santa Fe attended. Adding in the Squadron Fifteen staff, it came to over fifteen hundred people. North Dakota and North Carolina were homeported out of Pearl Harbor, so their families were not present, and Jerry missed having Emily beside him.

So they’d taken over a nearby parking lot, setting up chairs, awnings, a podium, flags, and sound system. Volunteers from the Squadron Fifteen boats had made short work of the preparations, so that by the time the last torpedo had been locked in its tube, everything was ready for the service. The mess crews on the four submarines worked all night to prepare the refreshments. They wanted to do this right.

It was going to be a warm day. It got into the eighties in Guam, even in September, so it was a short service, but that was fine. The crews had places to be.

The navy hadn’t lost a ship for a long time, but they hadn’t forgotten how a memorial service should be done. Honoring a fallen shipmate, admittedly an entire crew in this case, was a tradition the navy clung to fiercely. The base chaplain had begun the service, followed by readings from each of the Squadron Fifteen skippers. Captain Simonis gave a short speech about service and sacrifice, and that the greatest sacrifice was made by the ones left behind—the families.

Joanna Patterson, at the direction of the president, read a short message praising Santa Fe and its crew, who had accepted the risks inherent in their work, and, in faithfully carrying out their duties, “had upheld the finest traditions of the U.S. Navy.” She’d held it together while reading the president’s message, but the deputy national security advisor wept silently through the rest of the service.

The base band played the navy hymn, and then serenaded the attendees as they enjoyed the refreshments. Jerry had sought out Joanna, who gave him a quick hug, wished him luck, and told him to be careful. Simonis found him as he was talking with Patterson. Upon seeing the commodore waiting, she quickly excused herself. Joanna knew the two had business to discuss. Simonis approached Jerry and offered his hand.

“Good luck, Jerry. I’m sorry about sending you back to the same patrol zone, but North Dakota has the best chance against that Akula. I’m assuming Samant’s still annoyed, so it makes the most sense to send someone with experience up against him.”

“Oh, he’s still pissed, Commodore. That’s a safe bet. I’ll do my best to stay out of his way.”

“Just do what’s needed and come home. I don’t want to lose another one of my boats.”

Less than an hour after he returned to North Dakota, they were under way. Half an hour later they were submerged, with a flank bell on, speeding for the South China Sea.

Jerry had begun running drills as soon as they were clear of the harbor. The memorial service had left his crew thoughtful, and he needed their heads fully in the game. Feeling sorry for Santa Fe, or worse, sorry for themselves, was a good way to get dead. Better they were sweating the next drill, or mad at him for working their tails off.

He ran snapshot torpedo exercises that morphed into damage control drills. He inserted Chakra’s recorded acoustic signature into the sonar’s computer, exercising his team until even his most junior sonarman knew exactly which tonals would show up first.

He also had the torpedomen run rapid reloading drills. With only one tube available, if he had to shoot, he wanted to make sure it wasn’t the only chance he’d get.

In spite of the long distance, North Dakota was still close to its assigned station two hours ahead of time. They’d decided to wait inside a box five miles square, centered on their designated launch position. That meant they were never more than half an hour from the launch position at ten knots.

In the infantry, a unit would simply dig in for protection and concealment, but all the crew of North Dakota could do was stay quiet, mill about smartly, and wait.

Thigpen and his fire control team had plotted every bit of information on Chakra’s patrol patterns, but there was no observable pattern, and besides, their launch position was dictated by geography and hydroacoustics. For this torpedo shot, tactics had to take a backseat.

He’d run the boat at Condition II, port and starboard watches, since leaving Apra Harbor. An hour before launch time, Jerry ordered general quarters. At thirty minutes before H-hour, he went to periscope depth for a final look around. After three slow sweeps with a photonics mast, Jerry was satisfied there wasn’t a soul near him. They headed back down to launch depth.

18 September 2016

1140 Local Time

INS Chakra

South China Sea

“New contact, number seven three, bearing zero four nine. Hull-popping noises, contact is likely submerged,” blared the intercom speaker.

Samant quickly grabbed the mike. “Sonar, is the contact the American submarine?”

“Captain, contact is very weak. We can’t tell what it is yet.”

Samant threw the mike onto the desk and bolted to the sonar room. Opening the door, he thrust his body between the two operators. “Show me what you have.”

Lieutenant Rajat pointed to the slight trace on the waterfall display. The tonal was weak, unstable. The lieutenant was right, it was too hard to tell whether the new contact was a submarine or a ship, but the hull-popping noises meant a submarine was changing depth. And if it was a submarine, it was probably an American. All of the Chinese boats he’d detected thus far had been much farther to the north. Until proven otherwise, he had to assume it was an American attack submarine.

Jain’s voice came from behind him. “What is it, Captain?”

“We don’t know for sure, Number One, but I think our nemesis is back,” answered Samant.

“What!? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in over a week! Why would he be back now?” Jain asked, surprised.

“I have no idea, Number One, but please be so kind as to bring the boat to action stations.”

USS North Dakota

“Captain, new sonar contact, designated Sierra-one three. The contact is in the forward end fire beam of the TB-33, bearing is two two zero, but it’s really sketchy, sir,” reported Chief Halleck.

Jerry chuckled cynically and rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

“Do you think it’s your buddy Samant?” questioned Thigpen.

“Who else? You couldn’t get any more inconvenient if you tried. It looks like Murphy is working overtime!” Jerry grumbled. “Attention in Control, I’m about to come left to get Sierra-one three out of the forward end fire beams of our towed arrays. Things could get ugly quick, so keep alert. Carry on.

“Pilot, left fifteen degrees rudder. Steady on course east,” ordered Jerry.

“Left fifteen degrees rudder, steady course zero nine zero, Pilot aye.”

INS Chakra

“Captain, contact seven three is classified as an American SSN. Contact is altering course, turning away from us,” Lieutenant Rajat reported over the speaker.

“I knew it!” Captain Samant’s exclamation made Jain and several others in the central post jump. “I had a feeling he’d be skulking around here somewhere, he knew we’d have to head south eventually to find more targets! Has he detected us yet?”

“At this range and in these water conditions, it’s likely, sir. He’s moving away from us at low speed,” said Jain.

“Of course he is,” Samant remarked acidly. “He’ll try to stay at the edge of his sonar’s detection range, following us, and then, when we find a potential target, he’ll do his best to interfere. I wouldn’t put it past him to put a radio antenna up and warn a ship we were attacking!”

Jain, his first officer, suggested, “Sir, if he’s moving east, let’s just move westward and break contact.”

“Absolutely not!” Samant shot back. “He’ll use his acoustic advantage to trail us, and we won’t be able to tell whether he’s there or not until it’s too late. I don’t want to play underwater tag with this man for the rest of the war. Let’s scrape him off our shoe so we can get back to business. I’ll make him regret his career choice,” Samant promised grimly.

“Helm, left twenty five, steer zero four five, increase speed to twenty-five knots. Sonar, go active and track the American.”

USS North Dakota

“Confirm target zig by Sierra-one three. He’s changing course and increasing speed, Skipper. WLY-1 has Skat-3 active transmissions.”

“Then there’s no point in going east now,” Jerry remarked. “Pilot, hard left rudder, steady course north. All ahead two-thirds, make turns for ten knots. I want a little more energy if I have to maneuver suddenly.” Even as he said it, he realized that even after all this time, he still thought in aviator terms.

“Sonar, go active as well, and track Chakra. I want the best information we can get on his position and speed.”

Jerry marveled at the situation. Submarines rarely used active sonar, because it revealed their position. But in this situation, stealth was the last thing on either captain’s mind.

He could see Chakra’s position on the VLSD. A projected course line ran from her toward and past North Dakota. Jerry’s turn to the north had shifted the line behind him; his intention was to open the range between the two subs. Now, as they watched, Chakra’s course line swung to the left again and steadied in front of the American boat’s bow.

The computer’s estimate of the closest point of approach was no more than a hundred yards, the approximate length of either sub. “I don’t like the look of that,” Thigpen remarked.

“At least it’s not an intercept course,” Jerry answered.

A few moments later, sonar confirmed the Indian sub’s course change. Going active was the right move, Jerry thought. Passive tracking takes too long for this business.

“Pilot, make turns for fifteen knots.” Jerry could see Thigpen’s worried reaction to the speed change, but the XO remained silent, and Jerry took that as a compliment.

North Dakota’s speed built up quickly, but Chakra’s projected vector continued to stay just ahead of North Dakota. That’s his active sonar tracking, Jerry thought. He can see small changes in my course and speed as well. Good. It also showed Samant didn’t want to ram them, just make a dangerously close pass.

“Two minutes to CPA,” Thigpen reported. “We’re still well within our box.”

“Then we’re done maneuvering for now. No surprises until after they are clear. Attention in Control, stand by for rapid maneuvers by both boats.”

INS Chakra

As he closed, the American’s sonar pulses became noticeably louder. It was an unusual sound, but Samant welcomed the noise. He felt he could almost gauge the boat’s distance and direction through the hull.

“Closest point of approach in thirty seconds,” Jain reported. His first officer was tense, but all business.

The active sonar gave them an unrealistically clear picture of the American sub’s position, course, and speed. In Perisher, he’d had to keep this all in his head based on periscope observations, but then again, this was going to be harder than lining up for a simple torpedo shot against a frigate.

Jain’s voice was steady. “Loss of active signal! We’re in his baffles! Ten seconds, Captain. Five seconds. At CPA… now!”

Rajat reported, “Captain, the U.S. boat is slowing and turning to the right. He’s changing depth, going deeper.”

He’s trying to open the distance between us as we pass, Samant thought. I don’t care. I’ve got the speed I need to compensate. The correction came to him instantly.

Samant ordered, “Left thirty, steer zero zero five, make your depth one three zero meters.”

“We’ll pass two hundred meters astern, and we should be slightly higher than him in depth, perhaps twenty meters,” said Jain, looking at the fire control console.

“Perfect.” Samant smiled.

USS North Dakota

“He’s turning to the left again, Skipper, blade rate’s unchanged.” The chief paused for a moment, then added, “Sir, he may have changed depth.”

“Continue the descent,” Jerry ordered. There was little else he could do. If Samant had immediately turned back toward him, then they were dangerously close. No zigging or zagging.

Jerry flashed back to Captain Rudel’s maneuvering duel with Severodvinsk. He’d been just the navigator then, as he watched Seawolf’s captain skillfully maneuver his boat during the Russian sub’s insanely close passes. Rudel had done his best to stay out of the Russians’ way, and yet they still collided.

“He’s going co-depth, sir, matching our change…”

Before the chief sonarman could finish his report, a slight jolt ran through North Dakota, and half the sonar displays went dark. Alarms rang and Jerry felt a surge of fear. “All stations, report!”

There was no flooding, no apparent effect on their propulsion, but the TB-33 thin-line towed array was gone, snapped off cleanly.

“He’s on our port side now sir, bearing two nine zero. Speed is slowing to ten knots. His active sonar is off now.”

“Maintain active sonar contact,” Jerry ordered. “I don’t trust that SOB. Bernie, best course to launch point?”

“Two one zero, Skipper. At ten knots we’re there in four minutes, with four minutes to spare. Chakra is still heading away from us, steady on course zero zero five at ten knots.”

“Understood, XO. Pilot, right fifteen degrees rudder, steady course two one zero.”

“Right fifteen degrees rudder, steady course two one zero, Pilot, aye.”

“Skipper, what if he’s still nearby when we have to shoot?” Thigpen asked.

“I can’t see him interfering with the actual launch, and being nearby is a good thing… for him,” Jerry answered. “That means he’ll be clear of the blasts.”

“Good point,” the XO observed. “But why was he messing with us to begin with? We weren’t interfering with one of his attacks.”

“It’s preemptive, and smart. He’s told us to get lost, and took away our primary search sensor. He can break contact and we won’t be able to find him as easily. Our TB-34 towed array was short enough to be clear of him, but it isn’t as good as his array. We’re even now.”

“Yeah,” grinned the XO. “For another eight minutes, anyway. Luckily, we don’t need our thin-line array to shoot our two little friends.” Thigpen paused, then suddenly realized that he’d have to document the lost towed array. “Wait a minute! That bastard! Now I’ve got to do the paperwork for Minot and the TB-33! Are you sure we can’t shoot him, sir?”

INS Chakra

“All stations report no damage, Captain,” Jain announced.

Perfect. He’d crippled the American’s sonar capability, and incidentally cost the U.S. Navy a million dollars or so. Samant had held his breath when they’d rammed the towed array. It was the exact opposite of what submarine captains were trained to do.

Running into another sub’s towed array was something one usually avoided at all costs. There’d been a very real risk of fouling Chakra’s screw with the array’s cable. That would have been embarrassing at the very least, and potentially deadly if they’d been forced to surface and request a tow back to a friendly port. But he’d bet and he’d won. Take that, he thought happily.

“What’s he doing now?” Samant demanded.

Lieutenant Rajat reported, “He’s come right, steadied on two one zero at ten knots, Captain.”

“Still at ten knots?”

“Yes, sir,” Jain confirmed. “He’s not leaving.”

Samant’s face slowly turned red. He looked ready to explode. “Can’t this fellow take a hint? He is not welcome here! We must convey that message to him in the strongest possible terms. Set up another UGST torpedo shot. Bring tube one to action state. Disable the seeker, five degree offset. He won’t dare ignore this!”

“It worked before,” Jain added hopefully.

USS North Dakota

“Launch transients! Torpedo in the water!” shouted Halleck. “UGST torpedo bears three five zero. Weapon has not yet enabled.”

“Pilot, hard left rudder, steady course south! All ahead flank! Torpedo defense, launch an ADC Mark 5 and mobile decoy, stand by anti-torpedo defense system!”

The deck tilted under his feet as North Dakota turned sharply to port.

“Sonar, what’s the weapon doing?”

“Slight right drift, but the bearing rate isn’t changing as we change course.”

“So he’s steering the weapon, following our movements,” concluded Jerry.

“Yes, sir.”

“Just like before. XO, course back to the launch point?”

“We’re good, Skipper. On this course we’ll pass within five hundred yards of the launch point in two minutes. With five minutes to spare!”

“It was four minutes before!” Jerry protested.

Thigpen shrugged. “Sorry, sir. That last burst of speed caused us to close the distance a lot faster than anticipated.”

“Skipper, the torpedo is on our starboard quarter, and it’s going to pass astern,” reported a relieved Halleck.

Jerry relaxed a little. “Very well, Chief, reestablish active contact on Sierra-one three. Pilot, all ahead two-thirds.”

INS Chakra

“Sir, the American is slowing again.” Jain paused, studying the displays, but then reported, “He’s ignoring the weapon, Captain. His course and speed are not consistent with evading our torpedo.”

Samant stiffened, as if fighting to control his anger. “Damn him! He can’t ignore me! Fire control operator, put the weapon on an intercept course and command activate the seeker.”

“What?” Jain’s question startled everyone, including Jain himself, but he persisted. “Sir, we can’t sink him. Our orders—”

“Are very clear,” Samant interrupted, completing the first officer’s sentence. “I understand that! It’s my decision, on my authority, Number One.” Samant turned back to the fire control operator. “Do it!”

USS North Dakota

“Weapon has changed course! Weapon has enabled!” yelped Halleck. The WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver began beeping loudly as well.

The chief’s report sent lightning through Jerry. “Launch ADC Mark 5 and ATTs! Pilot, left full rudder, steady on course one three zero, all ahead flank. Snapshot, tube one, Sierra-one three. Minimal enable run!”

Thigpen watched as Covey’s team quickly flooded the torpedo tube and opened the outer door. Seconds later the Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo was ejected into the ocean and accelerating in Chakra’s direction.

“Normal launch, wire is good. Firing range is fifty-five hundred yards, run time is two minutes thirty seconds.”

A deep rumble came through the hull. “One of the ATTs hit, sir. Incoming weapon destroyed.”

Jerry exhaled. He realized he’d been holding his breath.

INS Chakra

“Captain, the American has counterfired! A single torpedo, and it’s already active. Bearing one seven zero. Our own torpedo has been destroyed,” reported Jain with excitement.

Samant reacted instinctively. “All ahead flank, steer two seven zero, launch decoys.” He added to Jain, “That’s it. Once we get clear of this weapon, I’ll give him a spread that will leave him in pieces.”

USS North Dakota

Jerry looked at the port VLSD. The tangled mess of submarine and torpedo tracks made it hard to figure out which way to go. Looking over at his XO, he saw Thigpen pulling his hair out trying to keep track of a very contorted and confusing situation.

“Which way do I need to go, XO?”

“Ah, um, recommend course three zero zero at fifteen knots. That should get us pretty close, I think. Time to launch, three minutes with no margin.”

“Close is good enough, Bernie. These are nuclear weapons we’re launching. Pilot, left fifteen degrees rudder, steady course three zero zero. All ahead two-thirds.”

As they watched North Dakota’s turn on the tactical display, Thigpen asked, “Skipper, do you think that was a deliberate setup? You know, fool us into believing it was like last time, then enable the torpedo at the last minute?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Jerry replied angrily. Then, after a moment, he added, “I doubt it, but we don’t have time for this.”

“He’s still evading our weapon, sir. We can command-shutdown the unit.”

“We’ve still got the wire?” Jerry asked skeptically.

“Surprisingly, yes. Even after all that pirouetting.”

Jerry shook his head. “No. Just cut the wire. I won’t give him another chance to shoot at us. If it hits him, so be it.” Jerry paused to consider the issue. “An Akula getting hit by a Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo. The Russians build them tough. It might not sink right away. They may have time to get to the escape chamber. If they’re lucky.”

“Real lucky. One minute to launch, Captain, five hundred yards from launch point,” Thigpen reported.

“Pilot, right full rudder, steady course north. Make turns for ten knots.”

As the pilot echoed his command and North Dakota swung onto firing course, Jerry ordered, “Make tubes three and four ready in all respects. Confirm selection.”

“Tubes three and four selected.” Thigpen stood behind the torpedo console operator, watching. He nodded to Jerry.

“Captain, tubes three and four are ready in all respects, outer doors are open,” said Covey. “Torpedo course is set, medium speed selected, maximum depth selected, seeker set to acoustics off.”

The torpedo’s course, speed, and depth had been predetermined by the engineers back in Washington, and all Covey’s people had to do was make sure the fire control system had the same values. One torpedo would head due east, the other due west, to the maximum length of their run. There was only one thing left to do.

“Firing point procedures, tubes three and four,” announced Jerry.

“Weapon ready,” replied Covey.

“Ship ready,” reported Rothwell, the ship’s navigator.

Jerry looked around control; this was it, “Stand by… SHOOT!”

“Tubes three and four normal launch, weapons running hot, straight, and normal.”

“It’s out of our hands now, XO. Pilot, hard right rudder steer course one eight zero, all ahead flank, make your depth one hundred feet. Sonar, cease active transmissions.”

“What about the Akula, sir?” Thigpen asked. “We could warn him.”

“Not a chance. He’s at flank speed. He’d never hear us.”

INS Chakra

They were still alive after three minutes, and Samant slowed Chakra a little so their sonar would function. As they fell below twenty knots, he could hear the relief in Lieutenant Rajat’s voice. “It’s confirmed. The American weapon is going after one of the decoys, bearing zero two five. It’s in a constant reattack pattern. We are outside its acquisition cone.”

But then his alarm returned. “Torpedoes in the water! I have two more torpedoes!!”

Fighting panic, Samant demanded, “Where are they? What are their bearings?” Which way should they dodge? Was there time to react, or were they about to die?

Rajat’s tone suddenly changed from fear to confusion. “Captain, one torpedo bears two four five, drawing right, the other bears one two zero, drawing left.”

“What?” Samant was totally confused.

“I have down Doppler from both American torpedoes. They are headed away from us in opposite directions. Speed is also considerably slower than the first weapon.”

“And where is the American submarine?” Samant asked.

“It’s headed due south at high speed. He’s also changing depth, coming shallow.”

The Indian captain almost shook his head to clear it. “Jain, he’s fired two torpedoes, evidently not aimed at us, to opposite ends of the compass, and is now heading away from us at high speed. Does that make any sense to you?”

Lieutenant Rajat’s voice came over the speaker again. “The American’s speed has stabilized at thirty-two knots.”

“And on top of everything else, he’s going so fast his own sonar is useless.” Samant was working the problem, but it just didn’t fit together.

“Don’t forget the depth change, sir. I don’t understand it, and I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. Helm, new course one eight zero, flank speed,” Samant snapped. “Make your depth forty meters.”

He turned to Jain. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but if he thinks this is a good idea, so do I.”

They watched Chakra’s speed build quickly. “We’re going to be leaving a wake on the surface, Captain.”

Samant nodded. “Understood, but if he’s not concerned, then neither am I. He launches two torpedoes, then runs away from them at maximum speed…” Samant’s expression changed from confusion to shock, with Jain’s face mirroring his half a second later. “Sound collision! All hands brace for shock!”

At forty knots, it took the U.S. torpedoes nearly half an hour to reach the end of their eighteen-nautical-mile range. The weapons were set to run deep, so deep that the explosive pulse would just barely break the surface. This not only minimized the potential damage to any surface ships, but made sure that the majority of the warhead’s energy was transferred to the water and the ocean floor—in other words, a massive sound wave.

North Dakota was eighteen miles away from the two detonations. Chakra, a few miles in trail, was sixteen miles away. The ten-kiloton underwater burst was only lethal out to a few thousand yards, but would have damaged either boat if they’d been within four or five nautical miles.

While they were waiting, braced, Samant and Jain took the time to review other possible scenarios, and came up with none. Working it through, they knew the time the American had launched his weapons, and the range and speed of the U.S. Mark 48 torpedo. They could calculate the time of detonation, assuming a maximum run. Jain even added in a time/distance calculation for the speed of sound in water. They could relax for a short while. Sort of.

The only thing they could not estimate was the size of the warhead. At this distance, they should be clear, probably, unless the torpedo was fitted with a really large nuclear device. How big was it? These were the Americans, after all.

Twenty-seven minutes after the U.S. torpedoes were fired, Samant ordered again, “All hands, brace.” He waited, watching the seconds pass, and prayed that if he was right, all of his assumptions were right.

After a minute and fifteen seconds, Jain called on the sub’s announcing system, “Stand by for shock wave, any second now.”

Samant could feel his hands sweating, slick on the metal surface. He was thinking about wiping them off, one at a time, of course, when the deck suddenly rose and fell, as if they’d ridden over a speed bump too quickly.

Lieutenant Rajat started to speak, but a second jolt, as hard as the first, rattled them again, but then it was past, and that was it.

As they all began to breathe again, Rajat began his report. “Captain, the sonar’s flooded with noise. All frequencies are being drowned out. It’s completely blind.”

“Go to active mode. See if you can find the American sub.”

Rajat pressed a switch and watched the screens. “It’s no good, sir. The echoes from the active pulses are drowned out as well. Our sonar is completely useless.”

18 September 2016

2405 Eastern Daylight Time

CNN Headline News

Washington, D.C.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

Myles walked to the podium slowly, deliberately. It was done, and nothing could change that. He’d rolled the dice. It only remained to tell the world, and see if it was enough.

His staff had put out the word that he would make a major announcement about the Pacific War, and every news feed that mattered was listening. The fact that the news conference was set for just after midnight only fueled the wild speculation.

Some partisans predicted he would finally throw in with the alliance, which showed he was opportunistic. Others opined he would finally declare neutrality, which would prove how weak America was.

Myles began his speech by glancing at his watch.

“Exactly six minutes ago, on my orders, eight ten-kiloton nuclear devices were detonated in the depths of the South and East China Seas.”

The gasps and uproar in the press corps went on for almost ten minutes. Myles made no attempt to stop it. He simply waited silently for the commotion to die down, and when they were quiet again, he continued.

“These devices were placed by four U.S. Navy submarines, deployed to carefully plotted positions in the South China Sea and East China Sea, where they each fired two specially modified torpedoes, each fitted with a nuclear warhead.

“The torpedoes were not aimed at anything or anybody, and were detonated at a depth that minimized the blast and radioactive contamination from reaching the surface. They presented no danger to nearby ships, and based on reports from U.S. aircraft monitoring the operation, did not cause any injuries or damage.”

Myles was watching the audience as he read from the teleprompter. They were completely silent, almost transfixed. They were full of questions, he knew, but also curious as hell. Why, then?

“One effect of these weapons, which we did our best to maximize, was something called ‘blue-out.’ The shock waves from these eight blasts will reverberate through the entire South and East China Sea basins for days, completely blinding all sonars. Submarines cannot find their prey or detect another ship, save by short-ranged periscope or radar. Surface ships cannot hunt for submarines, and cannot know if they are about to be attacked, unless they spot said periscope. Aircraft cannot hunt for subs except by radar, visual search, or magnetic anomaly detectors, which are very short-ranged and unreliable.

“Since this war began, the United States has done its utmost to convince the warring parties to quickly end the conflict, before the violence escalates to a level no rational human wishes to see.

“In spite of our best efforts, both sides have repeatedly refused to consider any negotiations to end their dispute, or even declare what their definition of victory was. Today, the United States has imposed at least a partial cease-fire at sea. The Littoral Alliance’s most powerful weapons, its submarines, are virtually impotent. But as impotent as they are, the Chinese Navy cannot ignore, or even detect, a submarine, if it happens to be nearby.”

Myles paused for a moment, and looked at the line of television cameras at the back of the room. His image was being seen around the world.

“To the leaders of the Pacific nations engaged in this war, if our use of nuclear weapons, even in this nonlethal way, has shocked you, then pause in your struggle and consider the horror that lies inevitably in front of us. The death tolls in Seoul, Tokyo, and other cities thus far will be trivial compared to the holocaust after a nuclear weapon strikes them.

“The environmental damage caused by our eight detonations is not as great as the harm already caused by one wrecked supertanker. The South China Sea, the major prize in this struggle, is losing its luster daily as war’s ruin fills it with poison.

“We have not done this from some altruistic desire for peace. This is naked, if enlightened, self-interest. A Chinese economy in ruins is a global catastrophe that could drag the rest of the world down with it. A nuclear exchange would be far worse. The world is too small now for wars such as this, and only a fool would think that the belligerents would be the only ones to suffer.”

18 September 2016

1330 Local Time

Littoral Alliance Headquarters

Okutama, Nishitama District

Tokyo, Japan

The delegates had all gathered to hear the American president’s speech. As soon as he mentioned “nuclear devices,” the room had erupted in chaos, with shouts and exclamations in half a dozen languages. Aides ran out to confirm Myles’s announcement with their respective governments. Some delegates without translators asked others to confirm what seemed unbelievable. Surely their English skills weren’t that bad.

By the time the aides had begun to straggle back in, Myles had finished his speech and the delegates were listening to a replay, some making notes, others just holding their heads in their hands. Not a word was spoken until Myles’s speech ended again.

Lieutenant Commander Xang was the aide to Admiral Han, the Taiwanese military representative, and the most senior aide. He stood in front of the admiral, quickly bowed, and reported, “Both of our submarines currently on patrol report their sonars are completely blind. The time coincides with the Americans’ announcement. On his authority, Commander Submarines has ordered both subs back to port, and forbidden any other sailings until better sonar conditions develop.”

The other aides all followed in order, and their messages were similar. Ships and subs at sea were all heading for the nearest friendly port at their best speed. Some had asked the working group for their concurrence. Numbly, and by a simple show of hands, the offensive campaign at sea was unanimously “suspended, until acoustic conditions improve.” Myles was right. In one stroke, they had been hobbled.

The military confirmations were hardly needed. Within minutes of Myles’s broadcast, scientific stations, civilian observers, even weather satellites had posted information about the detonations on the Internet. Wild speculation about the physical effects would reverberate long after the acoustic pulse had faded.

Minister Jan Ignacio, the Filipino civilian representative, chaired the working group this week, and called them to order.

“Mister Chairman, I have a motion,” cried a Taiwanese representative.

“Mister Chairman, I demand an immediate release condemning the American action,” urged the representative from Singapore.

“Mister Chairman…”

By the time Ignacio sorted out the immediate and most emotional demands from the delegates, the anti-American release was tabled, as was a motion for an immediate cease-fire. Trying to buy time, Ignacio asked Lieutenant Commander Xang to brief them on the blue-out phenomenon. Was Myles correct? Would this last for days?

Xang deferred to a different officer, with a degree in acoustics. He expanded on the president’s description. High-frequency sonars, used by torpedoes and mine-hunters, would return first, maybe in twelve hours or so, but the low-frequency bands, used for long-range search by subs and surface ships alike, were blocked for at least two days. The only thing to do was head for port and hope for the best.

The Korean minister was incensed. “The Americans have taken away our best weapon. Our aircraft can’t match the Chinese Air Force’s numbers, and we can only hope for a handful of ballistic missiles.”

“That’s why we should offer terms for a cease-fire,” the Taiwanese delegate insisted. “If we continue to use cruise missiles…” He didn’t complete his sentence, but saw several heads nodding agreement.

“We must continue,” the Indian delegate argued. “We’ve already inflicted terrible damage on the Chinese economy. They are already deep into their strategic reserves. If we keep them on a war footing, and at the same time continue choking off their imports, they’ll be faced with complete collapse soon. Then we won’t have to offer terms. We can dictate them.”

Minister Hisagi disagreed. “We should think carefully before we back the Chinese leadership into a corner. Desperate men use different rules. Also, Dr. Komamura has always insisted that the Chinese themselves may not know where the edge is. By then, it might be too late.”

“Then perhaps the professor can give us an update. We’d all welcome his counsel.”

But Komamura’s chair was empty. Hisagi sent his aide to find the doctor and ask him to rejoin the meeting. But in the end, Hisagi and Orihara were the ones who went to the doctor.

They’d found him on the floor of his small quarters, Miyazaki collapsed on top of him, sobbing. They tried to help her up, but she clung to Komamura, crying, “It’s too late. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

Dr. Ono had arrived by this point, and his simple check and solemn nod confirmed their worst fears. As Ono stepped back from the body, the news passed from person to person, and a silence spread out from his room and through the halls.

Captain Madarame, in charge of security, hustled the onlookers away. Even Hisagi and Orihara had to stand outside. After asking Miyazaki a few questions, he stepped out into the hall and spoke to the two representatives.

He showed them a vial of prescription medicine. DO NOT TAKE WITH ALCOHOL was printed in red along the top of the label. The vial was empty. “There was an empty flask of sake next to him as well. Dr. Ono says that even a third of the vial would have been fatal, and there must have been at least that much in there.” Madarame sighed. “It was quick. He didn’t even have time to lie down on the bed.”

Attendants appeared with a litter, and another confrontation with Miyazaki began. Her coworkers on Komamura’s staff, fellow graduate students, interceded and gently separated her from the professor, promising that she could see him to the ambulance. They escorted her out, promising she would not be left alone.

“You should see this,” Madarame said, ushering the two representatives into his room and pointing to the screen of his personal laptop computer. “He left a message. Don’t touch anything. This is a crime scene until the examiner declares it a suicide.”

Careful to stay back, Hisagi and Orihara bent over, squinting to read the display at that distance. After several moments, Hisagi asked, “May I print this page? It’s very important.”

Madarame reluctantly nodded. “Let me record which keys you press.”

Word of the note spread ahead of them, so that by the time they arrived back in the meeting room, it was full, with staff crowding the sides and back until it was impossible to move. Miyazaki, red-faced after her sad good-bye, had been given a chair near the front.

Hisagi didn’t bother with explanations. “This is what he wrote.”

My good friends and dear colleagues, I can no longer bear the sadness and shame of this war. Even if my economic theories are correct, I was wrong to think that they must inevitably lead to conflict. We were too quick to take the path of violence, and I must take responsibility for my poor judgment. With my death, I ask that the delegates of Littoral Alliance pursue peace with the same energy that they applied to war.

Half an hour later, the Littoral Alliance declared a unilateral cease-fire, beginning at 1200 GMT, and offered to send representatives to a neutral country of China’s choice to begin peace negotiations.

18 September 2016

1400 Local Time

August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

President Chen Dao read the communiqué from the secretary general of the United Nations. Would the Chinese accept the cease-fire? Bangkok, Thailand, and Wellington, New Zealand, had both offered to host the peace negotiations. Were either of these acceptable, or did the Chinese have a different location in mind?

Every member of the CMC had his own copy, not that it took that long to read. None of them spoke. A tomb would be noisier.

“They’ve put us in a very small box, Comrades. If we refuse such an offer, the world will impose more sanctions. If we continue to fight, we will quickly exhaust our store of conventional missiles, and eventually our oil reserves.”

“The ‘blue-out’ will only last a few days,” General Shi of the political department argued. “We can use the time to rest and reposition our naval forces.”

“I wouldn’t put it past the Americans to do the same thing again. It would be hard to stop them,” Chen observed. “Or worse, should we refuse, they can join the Littoral Alliance without reservation and the rest of the world will cheer them on.”

“What about the campaign in Vietnam?” General Su argued. As chief of the General Staff, he’d personally supervised the offensive. While the PLA had gained some ground, it had not yet seized the capital, Hanoi, or any of the Vietnamese oil fields to the south.

“Are you seeking victory, General, or redemption?” Chen asked. Su scowled, but didn’t take the bait. “We are all at the end of our political careers, Comrades. We will be blamed for the war’s start and its outcome, even those of us who did our jobs well,” he said, nodding to some of those at the table.

“Then with so little to lose, let’s continue the struggle,” Su insisted.

Zhang Fei, vice president and secretariat of the Chinese Communist Party, answered him. “China still has much to lose, and each day we continue fighting lengthens our recovery time by months or years. We squander our wealth to no end.” His voice was hard, but sad, not angry.

Chen nodded in agreement as Zhang spoke, and added in almost the same tone, “Trident has failed and our economy is in tatters. We are beaten.”

19 September 2016

1200 Local Time

By Water

Halifax, Nova Scotia