STRATCOM, or U.S. Strategic Command, was a combination of the old Air Force Strategic Air Command, the Navy’s Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine Force, and the Air Force-Navy Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff. Based at Offutt Air Force Base near Omaha, Nebraska, the command of STRATCOM changed periodically between Air Force generals and Navy admirals; now, it so happened (not so coincidentally, with a Navy admiral taking charge of the Joint Chiefs of Staff) the organization was commanded by a Navy four-star admiral, Henry Danforth. USSTRATCOM had an unusual makeup. In peacetime, STRATCOM played “war games” and drew up contingency plans for major conflicts with other nations — conflicts usually involving nuclear weapons. It had no aircraft, no ships, no weapons, no troops other than its small group of planners, and no bases.
But in times of military crisis or war, STRATCOM transformed into the world’s most powerful fighting force. STRATCOM could quickly “gain” all the aircraft, submarines, bases, and soldiers it required from the various U.S. armed services to fight a full spectrum of conflicts, from show of force and nuclear deterrence alert to a full-blown intercontinental thermonuclear war. STRATCOM geared up its warfighting capabilities in stages by forming Combined Task Forces, or CTFs, representing the three legs of the United States’ nuclear triad — submarine-launched ballistic missiles, land-based intercontinental missiles, and long-range land- based bombers, plus their major support services. STRATCOM would “gain” land-based intercontinental ballistic missile forces from Air Force Space Command, sea-launch ballistic missile forces from the Navy’s COMSUBFLT, bombers from Air Force Air Combat Command, and aerial refueling tanker planes from Air Force Air Mobility Command. Samson, as commander of all the Air Force’s intercontinental heavy bombers and the highest-ranking expert on long-range bombers, was being given command of CTF Three, the strategic nuclear bomber leg of the triad.
“Admiral Allen, you will retain direct command of the EB-52 bombers on Guam,” Balboa went on. “They’ve caused enough trouble, but the National Command Authority still wants them over the Strait for now. I’m going to snatch Ken Wayne for CTF One.” CTF One was the task force in charge of the submarine-launched intercontinental ballistic missiles; Vice Admiral Kenneth E. Wayne was COMBALSUBFLT, the man in charge of the Navy’s ballistic missile submarine fleet.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Allen responded.
“Is STRATCOM gaining any weapon systems, sir?” Samson asked.
“None have been requested,” Balboa replied. “The President wants the CTFs together just in case the shit hits the fan. But I think he’s overreacting — I think Martindale got a little scared with those nukes going off. Taking an unexpected no-shit, this-is-not-a-drill ride in the E-4 NEACP ‘Doomsday Plane’ probably put the fear of God into him too.” Samson saw Allen chuckle, and he felt like hitting him in the mouth. There was nothing funny about it — there was plenty of reason for the President of the United States to be scared when something as horrifying as a nuclear explosion occured.
“But nothing will happen,” Balboa went on confidently. “It’ll be a good exercise for STRATCOM, and then we’ll all go home.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“In general, in battle one gains victory through the unorthodox… One who excels at sending forth the unorthodox is as inexhaustible as Heaven, as unlimited as the Yangtze and Yellow rivers…”
“Contact!” the undersea sensor operator reported. “Slow screws, cavitating, bearing… bearing zero-eight-zero, range… range eight thousand meters and closing, speed eight knots, depth unknown.”
The combat action officer aboard the Chinese aircraft carrier Mao Zedong nodded, then passed along the information to the bridge. The commanding officer of the Mao, Admiral Yi Kyu-pin, picked up the intercom phone himself. “Combat, bridge. Identification?”
“Sea Dragon-class submarine, sir,” the combat action officer responded. “It is the same one that has been shadowing us since we entered the area.”
“You are positive of the identification?”
“Yes, sir,” the combat officer replied. “We are positive. We can even identify the exact vessel — it is number 795, the Hai Hu. This rebel vessel has a distinctive rudder flutter, and the Holec alternators have a distinctive waveform pattern as well. Its identification was confirmed by ASW aircraft before we arrived at Hong Kong, and we have maintained steady contact on it since. Identification confirmed.”
Admiral Yi Kyu-pin swiveled in his seat and noted the sub’s position on the large glass wall chart in front of him. The Chinese carrier was riding at anchor just five kilometers south of Hong Kong; that put the Taiwanese sub well inside Hong Kong territorial waters, which, as far as Yi was concerned, were Communist Chinese waters, and always had been. Since the attack on Quemoy less than two weeks before, Taiwanese subs had been brazenly approaching Chinese warships, trying to sneak as closely as they could without being detected. They were not very good at it. In trying to arrest a rapid closure rate, the Taiwanese sub captain had actually reversed the pitch on his propellers, causing cavitation — air bubbles trapped in the prop wash and sliced apart, causing extreme undersea noise that could be heard for many kilometers (however, if the Taiwanese sub had not cavitated its screw, the Chinese destroyer’s sonar operators probably would not have detected the sub until it moved much closer).
It was all part of the game — except today, the game was about to change. “Very good,” Admiral Yi said. “Maintain passive contact and report when it closes within five thousand meters or opens any outer doors.”
“Yes, sir. I estimate it will close to within five thousand meters in twenty-three minutes on its present course and speed.”
“Very well.” The commander of the Mao hung up the phone, then rose and exited the bridge without issuing any other orders. He made his way quickly to the communications center, dismissed all but the senior officer on duty, sent a single coded message, then made his way back up on deck.
The early-morning air was cold, but Admiral Yi could detect the first scents of summertime warmth on the sea. The air was fresh and clean, not like the putrid air surrounding the port city of Guangzhou, the large industrial city north of Hong Kong. Life on the sea could be exciting, but all but a few of his years in the brown- or green-water People’s Liberation Army Navy had been spent within helicopter range of shore, and most of those had been spent in the thickly polluted inland waterways leading to China’s naval ports.
The admiral walked to the port rail and looked forward, sorry to be missing the fresh air blowing in from the east but wanting to take a look at his charge. He saw its curving “ski jump” bow and the open doors to the twelve missile launch tubes embedded in the flight deck just aft of the ski jump — and he felt sick to his stomach.
Mao, its four escort destroyers, and several smaller escort, support, and resupply vessels had returned to Victoria, Hong Kong, to participate in Reunification Day celebrations leading up to July 1, less than two weeks away, when Hong Kong would officially become part of the People’s Republic of China once again after one hundred years as a British leasee. The carrier’s superstructure and gunwales were covered with festive flags and bunting, and every night they staged brilliant fireworks demonstrations from the carrier’s aft deck. Almost all of the carrier’s combat crews and half of the ship’s complement had been taken off, replaced by nearly a thousand civilians from all over the world, anxious to see what it was like to live aboard an aircraft carrier — especially one that had just seen combat. Instead of performing anti-submarine sweeps, the Mao’s helicopters were being used to shuttle civilians from Hong Kong out to the carrier for rides and tours on the huge warship.