“It’s almost like D-day flexing, sir, Chinese-style. Our friends in Taiwan have been burning up the phones at State and at the Pentagon. I want to counter their movements with more air force assets in the immediate region. This time around, we no longer have the option to run GPS interference, like we did in ’96 to screw with the Chinese navigation systems.”
Macklin remembered it well. During the Third Taiwan Strait Crisis, back in the Clinton years, the US had owned the only GPS satellite constellation, made up of thirty-one satellites in geosynchronous orbit above Earth. Therefore, it had been able to adjust the encryption of the satellites covering the Taiwan Strait to mess with the guidance systems of the missiles that China fired at Taiwan, as well as the navigation systems of their airplanes and ships. It resulted in a huge embarrassment for the PLA. In response to that, China had begun developing and launching its own GPS constellation, called BeiDou, named after the Big Dipper. At the last count, BeiDou had nineteen operational satellites with plans to expand to worldwide coverage in five years with a total of thirty-five satellites.
“Back in ’96, China had around forty short-range ballistic missiles that could reach Taiwan, sir,” Chalmers added. “But we splashed them with our GPS interference. They now have roughly twelve hundred SRBMs, plus another four hundred land-attack cruise missiles capable of reaching our bases in Japan, Korea, and Guam. And their limited GPS constellation does cover the region.”
“I got it,” Macklin said. “What about surveillance coverage? How far can they see?”
“Their space assets have full coverage of their roughly nine hundred thousand square miles of coastal waters, as well as coverage over the Taiwan Strait, with plans to expand in the next few years to encompass all the way to the Philippines. Back in ’96, China had a total of ten satellites. Today they have almost 180. By comparison, the Russians have 140 and we have 570. And a few years ago, they began launching their Leung class of satellites to safeguard the country’s maritime rights. Those are the ones over the strait, sir, with EO, SAR, and ELINT capabilities that match our space assets.” Macklin was aware of the Electro-Optical, Synthetic Aperture Radar, and Electronic Intelligence reconnaissance technologies inside those satellites — meaning they could see through all kinds of weather conditions.
“I think it’s safe to say that China has surpassed the Russians on satellite muscle and are moving in on us,” Chalmers added.
“What’s Pete Adair’s take on this?”
“He’s at Eglin today, and he agrees we need more air force muscle in the region to counter the PLA buildup,” Chalmers replied with a trace of anxiety in his voice. “Secretary Adair suggested we send our F-35As from the 34th Fighter Squadron at Hill Air Force Base and from the 61st and 62nd Fighter squadrons at Luke Air Force Base on deployment to Kadena Air Base in Okinawa. He also wants to deploy our F-22 Raptors from Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii to bolster the ones we keep at Kadena. Though I’m not sure if we want that many of those expensive assets that close to mainland China, especially given their cruise-missile capabilities.”
“That’s what they’re for, to rattle nerves and cause confusion,” Macklin replied firmly. “We have them as a deterrent, and we might as well use them to advertise that fact loud and clear. Let them see those planes with their damn surveillance satellites. Just make sure we have enough missile defenses to protect them in case someone gets trigger-happy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Macklin’s stern expression turned into a smile. “Besides, those Lightnings give us one hell of an edge. The enemy can’t detect them, so they don’t know when they’re being stalked by them… until it’s too late. I wish I’d had one of those back in the day. Get them over there.”
“Yes, sir. I’m going to send the 34th, the 61st, and the 62nd, plus six KC-10s to supplement the KC-135 Stratotankers and support aircraft as soon as we can work out the logistics.”
“Good. What about Vinson? Do they have the navy variant?” Macklin asked, referring to the F-35C.
“Just two, sir.”
“Two? What the hell are they going to do with just two?”
“They’re there for recurrence training, sir.”
“Where are the rest of the F-35Cs we ordered for the navy?”
Chalmers frowned. “There are two more aboard Lincoln, for the same training purpose, and the rest, ah, they were split between Truman and Stennis, sir.”
“Christ,” Macklin hissed before standing and walking up to JFK’s painting. He crossed his own arms and gazed at the painting for a moment, before turning back to the chairman.
“Bastards hit us where it hurts, Les. Now our turn to hit them back.”
— 19 —
In her twenty-year career with the United States Coast Guard, Commander Briana Sasso had seen her fair share of action. The list included bagging drug runners in the Gulf of Mexico and multiple deployments in the Arabian Gulf, running patrols to discourage pirates, and training the Iraqis in how to protect their offshore oil rigs.
From gulf to shining gulf, and everything in between, she thought. Until last week, when her CO gave her a new assignment: Deliver the legendary Morgenthau to the Vietnamese.
Her father had fought in the Vietnam War, and she really couldn’t wrap her head around selling a highly decorated ship like Morgenthau—her commission for the past five years while on assignment in Honolulu — to the Vietnamese.
“Put it in a war museum,” she had argued. “Or just sink it. Turn it into an underwater reef. Make it an attraction for recreational scuba divers. Anything but this.”
But orders were orders.
Briana sighed. At least now she had something to do besides dread the upcoming delivery. The call from Missouri thirty minutes before had given the commander, and her beloved cutter, a chance for one last mission.
Assisting in the high-priority search were Morgenthau’s HH-65 Dolphin helicopter, which had been included in the deal made with the Vietnamese government.
She stood on the bridge of the Hamilton-class cutter scanning the horizon with a pair of binoculars. A quarter moon hung overhead. Along with her, five other sailors scanned the sea, looking for any sign of a submarine, as the ship cruised at fifteen knots, or one-third propulsion of its dual gas turbines.
The rest of her skeleton crew pinged the hell out of the surrounding ocean. But Briana wasn’t certain how much damage she could do if they found the sub, since the Coast Guard had removed all depth charges from the vessel before departure, leaving her with just enough ammunition in some of her guns to piss somebody off.
She mumbled, “Semper Paratus,”—Always Prepared — the motto of the USCG, under her breath, as she pondered what they might actually do if they found the damn enemy sub.
Capt. Yuri Sergeyev peered into the periscope as it broke the surface. Under a dim moon, he surveyed the entire horizon as he made his approach to the cargo ship.
Turning the scope back to the right, he studied M/V Nuovoh Arana and smiled to himself. The ocean remained calm, and they were an hour ahead of schedule. Sergeyev’s only worry was the thought of surfacing and being seen by a passing American satellite.