Empire Rising (5 page)

The Suburban ground to a stop on a narrow gravel driveway and the Marine sentry standing guard near the front door saluted as Christine and Brackman stepped from the SUV, with Brackman returning the salute. After knocking on the door and hearing the president's acknowledgment, Brackman opened the door for Christine, then followed her into the cabin's small living room, stopping beside a stone fireplace as the president rose from a couch against the far wall. Through the window behind the president, the late morning sun reflected off the surface of the swimming pool behind the cabin, the bright sparkle contrasting with the president's dark eyes.

The president waited for Christine to begin.

“Mr. President, China is mobilizing the People's Liberation Army. Liberty for all military personnel has been canceled and two army groups are being moved toward the coast across from Taiwan. Every warship is being loaded with a full weapon complement, with most of the activity occurring at night.”

“Do they have any war games scheduled?” the president asked.

“Not to our knowledge.”

The president reflected on Christine's words before replying. “China's relationship with Taiwan has never been better.”

“The timing points more toward the MAER Accord than their desire to unify the two Chinas. Their mobilization began almost a week ago, right after you signed the accord.”

“Perhaps China is just rattling its sword,” the president offered, “mobilizing their military to pressure us into modifying the accord.”

“Perhaps, Mr. President, but we can't be sure.”

The president didn't immediately reply. Finally, he asked, “How do we respond?”

“SecDef recommends we increase Pacific Command's readiness one level and cancel leave for all warship crews, putting Pacific Fleet on a twenty-four-hour leash. He also recommends we reroute all combatants on deployment in the Western Pacific toward Taiwan, just in case.”

The president nodded his agreement. “I'll give Jennings the order.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We need to find out what's going on and diffuse the situation. I'd send Ross, but she's on a flight to Moscow for a meeting with her secretary of state counterpart. I don't want to cancel the meeting and divert her to China, nor do I want to wait another week to address this issue. That means I send someone else.”

He stared at Christine for a moment, then asked, “How's your Mandarin?”

 

5

GUIDED MISSILE SUBMARINE USS
MICHIGAN

“Raising Number Two scope.”

Standing on the Conn in the submarine's Control Room, Lieutenant Steve Cordero lifted both hands in the darkness, grabbing the periscope ring above his head, rotating it clockwise. Although he couldn't see the scope as it slid silently up from its well, he knew the handles would emerge in three seconds. Dropping his hands, he held them out near his waist on each side of the scope until the top of the periscope handles hit his palms. He snapped the handles down and pressed his face against the eyepiece as the scope finished its ascent, checking the periscope settings. He twisted his right hand forward, verifying the periscope was set on low power. With a flick of his left wrist, he rotated the handle backward, tilting the scope optics skyward. But there was only darkness.

Cordero called out to the microphone in the overhead, “All stations, Conn. Proceeding to periscope depth.” Sonar, Radio, and the Quartermaster acknowledged the Officer of the Deck's order, then Cordero followed up, “Dive, make your depth eight-zero feet.”

The Diving Officer repeated Cordero's order, then directed the two watchstanders in front of him, “Ten up. Full rise fairwater planes.”

The watchstander on the left pulled his yoke back, and five hundred feet behind them, the control surfaces on the submarine's stern rotated, pushing the stern down until the ship was tilted upward at a ten-degree angle. To the Dive's right, the Helm also pulled the yoke back, pitching the control surfaces on the submarine's conning tower, or sail as it was commonly called, to full rise.

“Passing one-five-zero feet,” the Dive called out. USS
Michigan
was rising toward the surface.

Years ago, Cordero would have rotated on the periscope during the ascent. But protocols had changed. Peering into the periscope eyepiece, he looked straight ahead, up into the dark water, scanning for evidence of ships above, their navigation lights reflecting on the ocean's surface.

As
Michigan
ascended through the black water, aside from the Dive's reports, it was silent in Control. There would be no conversation until the periscope broke the surface and the Officer of the Deck called out
No close contacts
or
Emergency Deep
. Like the rest of the watchstanders in Control, Cordero knew their submarine was vulnerable during its ascent to periscope depth. A few years earlier, transiting these same waters, USS
Hartford
had collided with USS
New Orleans
during the submarine's ascent to periscope depth, almost ripping the sail from the top of the submarine.

With a submerged displacement of eighteen thousand tons,
Michigan
was less maneuverable than the nimble fast attacks. The former ballistic missile submarine was almost two football fields long, seven stories tall, and wide as a three-lane highway. Converted into a guided missile submarine,
Michigan
was now capable of carrying 154 Tomahawk cruise missiles, loaded in twenty-two of its twenty-four missile tubes, with the remaining two tubes converted into access hatches to two Dry Deck Shelters attached to the submarine's Missile Deck. Within each DDS rested a SEAL Delivery Vehicle—a mini-sub capable of transporting Navy SEALs miles underwater for clandestine operations. Aboard
Michigan
, in berthing installed in the Missile Compartment during its conversion, slept four platoons of Navy SEALs, ready should their services be required.

Their services wouldn't be necessary tonight. This was just a routine journey to periscope depth. As
Michigan
rose toward the surface, Cordero couldn't see the submarine's Commanding Officer, Captain Murray Wilson, in the darkness, but he felt his presence. Sitting on the starboard side of the Conn in the Captain's chair, Wilson monitored his submarine's ascent. There was heavy traffic in the narrow Strait of Hormuz tonight as the ship began its long transit home to Bangor, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest.

It was from Delta Pier in Hood Canal that Captain Wilson had cast off lines three months ago, leading
Michigan
west. This was Wilson's first deployment aboard
Michigan
. Cordero and the rest of the officers in the Wardroom had been surprised when Wilson had been assigned as their new Commanding Officer. Captain Murray Wilson, the most senior captain in the Submarine Force, had already commanded the fast attack submarine USS
Buffalo
and had just completed an assignment as the senior Submarine Command Course instructor, preparing officers for command. Rumor held he played a pivotal role in the
Kentucky
incident, selected for Rear Admiral as a result. But he had supposedly turned down flag rank, choosing to end his career at sea.

It didn't take long for Cordero and the rest of the crew aboard
Michigan
to appreciate the breadth and depth of the Captain's experience. However, they were perplexed when he ordered an indirect path for their journey to the Persian Gulf, forcing them to transit at a higher than desirable speed. The crew soon realized the deviation was made with the sole purpose of passing through a specific point on the chart. When they reached the prescribed spot, Wilson ordered the Quartermaster to activate their Fathomer, sending one ping down toward the ocean bottom. As Captain Wilson sat in the shadows on the submarine's Conn, Cordero could see the moisture glistening in the older man's eyes as they passed over the watery grave of HMAS
Collins
.

That was three months ago and they were now headed home, ascending to periscope depth to download the radio broadcast. As Cordero peered up through the black water, a small wavering disc of light appeared in the distance, growing slowly larger; the moon's blue-white reflection on the ocean's surface. The Dive called out the submarine's depth in ten-foot increments, and Cordero gradually rotated his left wrist back to its original position, tilting the scope optics down toward the horizon. As the Dive called out
eight-zero feet
, the scope broke the surface of the water and Cordero began his circular sweeps, searching for nearby contacts—quiet warships or deep-draft merchants bearing down on them as
Michigan
glided slowly at periscope depth.

After assessing the half-dozen white lights on the horizon, Cordero called out the report everyone in Control was hoping for.

“No close contacts!”

Conversation in control resumed, with the Dive and Chief of the Watch adjusting the submarine's buoyancy to keep it a tad heavy, so the passing ocean swells wouldn't suck the submarine up to the surface.

Radio's report over the 27-MC communication system broke the subdued conversations in Control. “Conn, Radio. In sync with the broadcast. Receiving message traffic.”

The Quartermaster followed with his expected report, “GPS fix received.”

Cordero acknowledged Radio and the Quartermaster, then after the usual two-minute wait, Radio confirmed
Michigan
had received the latest round of naval messages. “Conn, Radio. Download complete.”

They had accomplished the two objectives for their trip to periscope depth, so Cordero ordered
Michigan
back to the safety of the ocean depths. “All stations, Conn. Going deep. Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth two hundred feet.”

Each station acknowledged and
Michigan
tilted downward, leaving periscope depth behind. “Scope's under,” Cordero announced, then turned the periscope until it looked forward and snapped the handles back to their folded positions. Reaching up, he rotated the periscope ring counterclockwise, lowering the scope into its well.

The lights in Control flicked on, shifting from Rig-for-Black to Gray, allowing everyone's eyes to adjust, then shifted to White a moment later. As
Michigan
leveled off at two hundred feet, a Radioman entered Control, message board in hand, delivering the clipboard to the submarine's Commanding Officer. Captain Wilson reviewed the messages, then handed the board to Cordero.

“Change in plans,” Wilson said. “We're taking a detour on the way home.”

Wilson surveyed the men in Control before adding, “Come down to five hundred feet. Increase speed to ahead flank.”

 

6

SHANGHAI, CHINA

It was a twelve-story building off Datong Road in a mixed-use area of Pudong. To United States satellites in orbit, the building's electromagnetic signature appeared no different than the surrounding commercial buildings. The complex, however, housed China's Unit 61398, the premier unit of the PLA's Fourth Department, responsible for cyber warfare. On the twelfth floor, Admiral Tsou Deshi and General Cao Feng, Commander of the Fourth Department, supervised the most critical element of Admiral Tsou's plan: the dismantling of Unit 61398.

“Everything must be moved to underground bunkers before hostilities commence, Admiral,” General Cao commented. Tsou looked around as the thirty men and women busily packed away computers, displays, computer servers and their racks, power supplies, and cables. It was like watching a vacuum operate in slow motion—an entire hi-tech complex disappearing into hundreds of cardboard boxes.

“There will be a temporary disruption in ability,” Cao added, “but we are doing this in stages, and this is the last unit to be moved. All units will be fully operational by morning.”

Tsou nodded as General Cao continued, “We are a decade ahead of our American counterparts in cyber warfare, but they are catching up fast. They have finally realized the predicament they are in, and have established their own cyber warfare command. Fortunately for us, they have no idea of the inroads we have made.

“They will realize all too soon what we have done, and will attempt to respond in kind. But we have thoroughly prepared, Admiral. Their communication networks are vulnerable, while our nodes our impervious to cyber counterattacks.

“However, while our command and control networks are protected from cyber attacks, we cannot underestimate America's ability to harm us via conventional methods. Our critical communication nodes must be moved to hardened underground bunkers, along with our cyber warfare units. We cannot risk the possibility America will discover their existence and eliminate them with Tomahawk missiles or Air Force strikes. You know better than anyone that your plan hinges on their capabilities.”

Admiral Tsou could not argue with the General's words. Cyber warfare was the one area where China had superiority over the United States, and Cao was taking every measure to ensure America could not destroy that advantage during the conflict.

The last of the computers were placed into cardboard boxes and sealed, then loaded onto dollies and wheeled toward nearby elevators. A few minutes later, the Admiral and General stood alone on a desolate floor, with loose papers and dust balls littering an otherwise deserted office space. The two men headed toward the elevators in silence. The General would join Unit 61398 in one of the underground command bunkers, while Tsou would accompany his aide, waiting in the car below, for the long trip to Ningbo, headquarters of the East Sea Fleet.

 

THE GAMBIT

 

7

NINGBO, CHINA

On the first floor of a four-story concrete, windowless building, Fleet Admiral Tsou Deshi stood in the shadows with his aide, off to the side of a large auditorium. Gathered in the headquarters of the PLA Navy's East Sea Fleet this morning, fifty-four admirals sat in their dark blue uniforms, arranged neatly in sections representing the three fleets—the North Sea Fleet based in Qingdao, the East Sea Fleet headquartered in Ningbo, and the South Sea Fleet sortieing from Zhanjiang. All together, the three fleets fielded an impressive arsenal of ships, consisting of twenty-five destroyers, forty-seven frigates, fifty-eight diesel and nuclear-powered submarines, plus eighty-three amphibious warfare ships and over five hundred landing craft.