2034: A Novel of the Next World War(30)
“A week’s too long,” Hendrickson replied. “Once the Iranians learn what’s happened—if they don’t know already—they’ll take Major Mitchell back to Tehran. You’ve got to get him out now, or at least try. That’s why I’m calling—” There was a pause on the line as Chowdhury wondered how Hendrickson could possibly expect him to accomplish such a task. Then Hendrickson added, “Sandy, we’re at war.” The words might once have sounded melodramatic, but now they didn’t; they had become a statement of fact.
* * *
04:53 April 26, 2034 (GMT+9)
Yokosuka Naval Base
Dawn vanished the fog as the day broke bright and pure. Three ships on the horizon. A destroyer. A frigate. A cruiser.
They were sailing slowly, barely moving in fact. The frigate and cruiser were very close together, the destroyer a little further off. This view from Sarah Hunt’s window early that morning was a curious sight. Her flight to San Diego was scheduled for later that day. As she watched the three ships limping closer, she wondered if they would pull into port by the time she left. What she saw didn’t make much sense to her. Where were the Ford and Miller?
A red flare went up, followed by one and then two more. On the deck of the destroyer was a signal lamp; it began to flash.
Flash, flash, flash . . . flash . . . flash . . . flash . . . flash, flash, flash . . .
Three short . . . three long . . . three short . . .
Hunt recognized the message immediately. She ran out of her barracks room toward Seventh Fleet Headquarters.
* * *
05:23 April 26, 2034 (GMT+8)
Beijing
Victory had been total. Beyond what they could have hoped for.
It almost unsettled them.
It had been past midnight when Ma Qiang reported contact with the vanguard of destroyers from the Ford Battle Group. He was able to neutralize their weapons systems and communications with the same offensive cyber capability his fleet had employed weeks before to great effect near Mischief Reef. This allowed a dozen of his stealthy unmanned torpedo boats to close within a kilometer of the vanguard and launch their ordnance. Which they did, to devastating effect. Three direct hits on three American destroyers. They sunk in under ten minutes, vanished. That had been the opening blow, delivered in darkness. When the news was reported in the Defense Ministry, the cheers were raucous.
After that, all through the night their blows fell in quick succession.
A single flight of four Shenyang J-15s launched from the Zheng He scored a total of fifteen direct hits divided between three destroyers, two cruisers, and a frigate, sinking all six. A half dozen torpedo-armed Kamov helicopters launched from three separate Jiangkai II–class frigates scored four out of six hits, one of which struck the Ford itself, disabling its rudder. This would be the first of many strikes against both American carriers. Those carriers responded by launching their aircraft while the surface ships responded by launching their ordnance, but they all fired blindly, into not only the darkness of that night but the more profound darkness of what they could no longer see, reliant as they had become on technologies that failed to serve them. Chinese cyber dominance of the American forces was complete. A highly sophisticated artificial intelligence capability allowed the Zheng He to employ its cyber tools at precisely the right moment to infiltrate US systems by use of a high-frequency delivery mechanism. Stealth was a secondary tool, though not unimportant. In the end, it was the massive discrepancy in offensive cyber capabilities—an invisible advantage—that allowed the Zheng He to consign a far larger force to the depths of the South China Sea.
For four hours, a steady stream of reports filtered in from the bridge of the Zheng He back to the Defense Ministry. The blows struck by Ma Qiang’s command fell with remarkable rapidity. Equally remarkable was that they fell at such little cost. Two hours into the battle, they hadn’t lost a single ship or aircraft. Then, the unimaginable happened, an event Lin Bao never thought he would see in his lifetime. At 04:37 a single Yuan-class diesel-electric submarine slipped toward the hull of the Miller, flooded its torpedo tubes, and fired a spread at point-blank range.
After impact, it took only eleven minutes for the carrier to sink.
When this news arrived, there wasn’t any cheering in the Defense Ministry as there’d been before. Only silence. Minister Chiang, who had sat diligently at the head of the conference table all through the night, stood and headed for the door. Lin Bao, as the second most senior officer in the room, felt obliged to ask him where he was going and when he might return—the battle wasn’t over yet, he reminded the minister. The Ford was out there, injured but still a threat. Minister Chiang turned back toward Lin Bao, and his expression, which was usually so exuberant, appeared tired, contorted by the fatigue he’d hidden these many weeks.
“I’m only stepping out for some fresh air,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The sun will be up soon. It’s a whole new day and I’d like to watch the dawn.”
* * *
05:46 April 26, 2034 (GMT+5:30)
New Delhi
After Hendrickson hung up with him, Chowdhury knew who he needed to call, though it was a call he didn’t wish to place. He quickly calculated the time difference. Though it was late, his mother would still be up.