Empire Rising (55 page)

Yang grimaced, then replied, “Yes.”

Xiang lifted the receiver to his ear and punched one of the buttons on the phone. A few seconds later, he spoke into the mouthpiece in Chinese. After a short pause, he hung up the phone. Christine looked at Yang, who nodded his head.

Christine returned her attention to Xiang, keeping her gun pointed at him.

“Thank you, Chenglei. Now it's time for you to pay.”

Harrison intervened. “He's done what you asked, Chris. There's no reason to kill him.”

Christine replied, “This man is responsible for the death of tens of thousands. He needs to suffer the consequences for what he's done.”

“You can't kill him. He's the president of China.”

“He's the head of their army,” Christine said. “He deserves to suffer the same fate many of them have.”

“Put the gun down, Chris.”

Christine didn't reply, focusing her attention on Xiang again. He stood there, stoically, giving no indication he feared for his life. “Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you,” she said.

Xiang was silent for a moment, then replied, “Because if you kill me, you will not make it out of the Great Hall alive. You are not simply choosing between
my
life and death, you are deciding
yours
. Let me live, and I will ensure you and your friends receive medical care and a safe return home.”

Christine considered Xiang's words. He had a point. By killing him, she'd be sentencing herself, Harrison, and Yang to death. There was no way they could fight their way out of the Great Hall of the People.

“How can we trust you?” Christine asked.

“Despite what you may think, I am an honorable man, Miss O'Connor. You have my word.”

Christine's hand wavered as she evaluated her options. Finally, her hand steadied as she made her decision.

 

78

USS
RONALD REAGAN

On the Bridge of USS
Reagan
, Captain CJ Berger examined the two displays on the bulkhead in front of him. One, connected to the ship's organic sensors, was void of enemy contacts, failing to display the danger headed toward them. The other monitor, however, told the real story. Connected to the Link 16 system, it recorded the location of every contact reported by the E-2C Hawkeyes above them, and well as every ship on the grid. Streaming in from three directions were another four hundred Chinese aircraft.

Despite the impending onslaught, it was eerily quiet on the aircraft carrier. The Air Boss on the Tower Deck had no incoming aircraft to direct, and the Flight Deck below was empty. All of
Reagan
's aircraft were aloft, and there was no time to bring them back to refuel or rearm them.

Berger watched as the Chinese aircraft steadily closed the distance to the remaining thirty U.S. fighters. The Chinese would slice through the remnants of
Reagan
's Combat Air Patrol like a hot knife through butter, then unleash a barrage of missiles that would overwhelm
Reagan
's self-defense systems.

There was a slim chance the aircraft carrier would survive. She was a huge ship and could weather dozens of air-to-surface missile strikes, depending on where they hit.
Reagan
's cruiser and destroyer escorts were not as fortunate. They were much smaller and would be devastated by even a few missiles. The amphibs were large but some of them had less capable self-defense systems.

The TAO's voice crackled across the speaker next to Berger. He could hear the desperation in the TAO's voice as he directed the strike controllers to engage all incoming Hostiles. As the orders went out from the strike controllers, Berger's eyes returned to the displays in front of him, surprised by what he saw. The red icons had halted their advance toward
Reagan
.

Berger picked up the microphone, selecting CDC, his eyes still fixed on the display. “OPSO, Captain. Report status of inbound Hostiles.”

Captain Kent's voice came across the speaker. “Captain, OPSO. We're evaluating, but it appears all Hostiles have turned to an outbound course.”

Berger studied the display. Sure enough, the icons began inching outward. It took a moment for him to process the information. He had no idea why, but the Chinese aircraft were heading home.

He watched the display a while longer, verifying that the Chinese aircraft were indeed returning to base, then he finally allowed himself to relax. He knew that down in CDC, they would be relieved as well. But there would be no cheering. They had lost too many good men and women today.

 

EPILOGUE

APRA HARBOR, GUAM

Under a clear blue sky, the air was still and the sun hot on Christine's shoulders as she stood on the wharf in Apra Harbor, the main port in the American territory of Guam. The small Western Pacific island was home to the only American submarine homeport, aside from Pearl Harbor, outside the continental United States. But today the port serviced more than submarines. Christine's eyes scanned the wharves, noting the dozen surface ships tied up, their superstructures blackened or their decks listing to one side. Except for
Ronald Reagan
and her escorts still at sea, this was all that remained of the once-powerful Pacific Fleet.

Next to her stood what remained of the five-man SEAL team inserted into China. Lieutenant Harrison had his left arm in a dark blue sling, matching the one Christine wore. Harrison's injury had not been serious, nor were her wounds. The bullets had been removed and her shoulder and thigh were now bandaged, and she leaned on a crutch under her right arm.

Standing in Xiang Chenglei's office six days ago, she had decided to spare his life, and he had kept his promise. After an overnight stay in Tiantan Hospital under the close supervision of Cadre Department personnel, she, Harrison, and Yang were transported to Beijing's Nanyuan Airport, where they embarked an American Air Force 747, which had arrived with a diplomatic entourage. They had headed east while negotiations between China and the West had begun.

After Xiang issued the cease-fire order in his office, the PLA Air Force had terminated its attack on the
Reagan
Task Force, and by the time she had confronted Xiang, Chinese troops had already begun their withdrawal from Japan. But not Taiwan. That was China's bargaining chip. Taiwan was firmly in communist Chinese control, and PLA troops had dug in and been well supplied. Even with the arrival of the Atlantic Fleet carrier strike groups, the PLA could not be dislodged from Taiwan easily. China would not leave Taiwan without concessions.

Although China had withdrawn its forces from Japan, a thinly veiled threat remained. The PLA Navy had been mostly destroyed, but the PLA Air Force, despite the losses inflicted by the
Reagan
Task Force, was still the most formidable air force in Asia, as was China's Army, still numbering near three million strong when fully mobilized. There were other natural resources in the region that China could wrest from its neighbors without reliance on its Navy. If the fundamental issue of affordable access to natural resources wasn't addressed …

It looked like China would achieve their objective after all. The negotiations were not yet complete, but China's military offensive—diplomacy through other means—had succeeded. The MAER Accord would be modified, restructuring the price calculations, allowing “equal” access to the region's natural resources. China would cede control of Taiwan in return.

As negotiations concerning one island—Taiwan—neared completion, Christine found herself on another. After boarding the 747 for its return flight to Washington, she had directed the pilot to proceed to Guam instead, informing the president she had unfinished business that required her presence on the small Pacific island.

Christine checked her watch; it was almost time. She shifted her gaze toward the entrance to Apra Harbor, searching for the silhouette of USS
Michigan
, spotting the black shape on the horizon.
Michigan
was pulling into port. Two tugs,
Goliath
and
Qupuha
, idling in the harbor up to now, began their outbound transit to mate with the inbound SSGN, guiding her final approach to the wharf. As Christine prepared to wait the remaining twenty minutes before
Michigan
tied up, her thoughts shifted from the submarine that was about to return to port to the thirty fast attacks that would not.

At least that was what everyone had initially thought. China had made the same strategic error that Japan made during World War II, attacking the Pacific Fleet in shallow water. On the evening of December 7, 1941, the Pacific Fleet lay in ruins in the shallows of Pearl Harbor. Yet in the following months, the Pearl Harbor shipyard raised every ship that had been sunk except for USS
Arizona
, returning every destroyer, cruiser, and battleship to service except for the
Arizona
and
Oklahoma
—the latter had capsized while being towed back to the mainland for repairs. China sank twenty-four of the American submarines in the shallow Taiwan Strait, where the water depth averaged only two hundred feet, well below a submarine's Crush Depth. As a result, if the submarines could be raised from the bottom, only the compartment that had been breached by the torpedo would need to be repaired.

Could it be done? The answer from NAVSEA engineers was—yes! The capability had already been demonstrated when the Russian submarine
Kursk
was raised from the bottom of the Barents Sea in 2001. The green light had already been given to the monumental project of raising the twenty-four fast attacks from the bottom of the Taiwan Strait, along with the first three submarines that were sunk in the shallow waters outside the South, East, and North Sea Fleet ports.

The four carriers sunk in the Strait would also be raised, although that feat would be significantly more challenging, since the carriers were hundred-thousand-ton behemoths. But hopefully enough of the carriers' compartments had been sealed during General Quarters that the carriers were lighter than their official tonnage. The major unknown was the status of their keels. If their keels were intact, the four Nimitz class carriers could be raised without breaking apart. All across the country, naval and private shipyards were gearing up for round-the-clock shiftwork, preparing for the arrival of the remnants of the Pacific Fleet. It would be expensive and take time, but it appeared that the Pacific Fleet could be restored in a matter of years, not decades.

A blast from one of the tugs brought Christine's attention to
Michigan
, gliding slowly toward the wharf. She spotted Captain Murray Wilson on the Bridge, supervising Lieutenant Herndon, who was on watch as Officer of the Deck and busy passing orders to the Helm. The eighteen-thousand-ton submarine coasted expertly to a halt alongside the wharf and a flurry of activity commenced, men passing lines across from the wharf to personnel on the Missile Deck, while others prepared to hook up shore power so the reactor could be shut down.

Wilson noticed Christine on the wharf and waved; she waved back. This was the second time America had relied on Captain Murray Wilson, and she felt obliged to offer her appreciation in person. A brow was soon in place and men began hustling across in both directions. Christine would wait for Captain Wilson to debark, but Harrison would join his unit aboard the submarine.

During the days spent waiting on Guam, neither she nor Harrison had mentioned it. His passionate embrace before she stepped onto the ledge outside the Great Hall of the People had been nothing more than a good-luck kiss. At least that's what she told herself, each time her thoughts wandered. Harrison was a married man, and whatever feelings he had for her were irrelevant, as were her feelings for him. Still, she enjoyed spending time with him, and she went out of her way to arrange lunches and dinners together. She caught herself stealing glances at him, thinking about what might have been. But that was over twenty years ago. They had chosen separate paths, and there was no going back.

Speaking of going back, Christine had been debating whether to ask Harrison to return to Washington with her, purportedly to help debrief the president on the SEAL team mission. Up to now, she had opted against asking him. But with the arrival of
Michigan
—and Harrison's departure only minutes away, she finally gave in. She turned toward Harrison.

“Jake, I've been thinking, and I'd like you to join me at the White House to debrief the president. I think he'd appreciate the perspective of someone with a more tactical background.”

Harrison was silent for a while, his eyes probing hers, and Christine hoped he hadn't seen through her thinly veiled plan. Finally, he replied, “Thanks for the offer, but I don't think that's necessary. You were with us the whole time, and you were the one who completed the mission. You're more than capable of debriefing the president without me. Plus, it's not my call. I belong with my unit, and Commander McNeil would be the one to authorize my absence. You'd have to ask him. But if it's all right with you, I'd rather just decline now and leave it at that.”

Christine let out an inward sigh. It wasn't the answer she had hoped for. “All right, Jake. But if you change your mind, let me know.”

Harrison said nothing for a while, then returned his attention to
Michigan
. There was a break in personnel crossing the brow, providing a path for him to board the submarine. He turned back to Christine.

“Any last words?”

Christine shook her head.

“Then I think this is where we say good-bye.”

Christine smiled. “Again.”

She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to give any indication of how she felt. He stared into her eyes for a long moment, and it looked as if there was something he wanted to say, but then he turned and headed toward the submarine without another word. Christine watched as he crossed the brow and disappeared down the Missile Compartment hatch.