“Very well,” Qin said. “Send a formal report within the quarter hour. Are there other American units in the vicinity? Where are their major forces?”
“Comrade Admiral, they have only an unarmed surveillance drone near Blood Moon. Their fleet command ship is near Guam, as is their carrier, and we suspect another carrier from California will cross the second island chain within days, but we do not have a track on it now. All their combatant ships are outside the first island chain, but two of their surface units are in waters west of Malacca.”
“Very well. We must steel ourselves for battle, and it may come sooner than we expect. Intercept their probes, but keep a safe distance! We cannot waste any more of the People’s fighters. Beef up your defenses in the Southern Sea territories, and we must position offensive striking power. How many bombers can you handle on Blood Moon?”
“Comrade Admiral, it is always a trade-off, but with increased fighter defenses and tactical strike aircraft, we could find ramp space for four bombers. We need space for aerial refueling tankers, too.”
“Find solutions and maximize your effectiveness. Consider yourself in war mode, but do not fire the first shot until directed. Are my orders clear, Fleet Commander?”
“Yes, Comrade Admiral.”
“And five minutes after you hear something, I want to hear it!”
“Yes, Comrade Admiral.”
Qin hung up and had his staff contact Marshal Dong. He was put through at once and informed Marshal Dong of the incident.
Dong already knew.
Meanwhile, in a windowless room on a sun-blasted patch of sand 1,800 miles south, a perturbed Bai Quon went over the incident with his Commander and the Political Commissar for the third time.
CHAPTER 16
The United States awoke to the headline of yet another military incident that involved China, this time with two destroyed warplanes. Half of the country shrugged it off with a collective whatever, while the other half, shocked and angry, was incensed at more Chinese aggression and recklessness. Now played out in the media, the two nations sent volleys of accusations and denials across the Pacific airwaves, and China appeared to have the stronger hand:
After repeated warnings, the Americans — who cannot be content to remain safe on their own half of the vast Pacific — once again violated Chinese territorial airspace. Our aircraft have every right to intercept and escort them to safety, but, with no warning, the American pilot veered into the People’s airplane, a suicidal maneuver that caused both to crash. We mourn for our brave Comrade pilot who will be missed by his grieving family as he defended them and the fatherland, and we regret the pain inflicted on the families of the American airmen who were sacrificed by Washington’s insatiable appetite for world hegemony and the plunder of others’ resources. However, America was warned, and, as they have done so often in the recent past, America ignored clear warnings.
The Chinese foreign ministry then upped the ante:
Effective immediately, noncommercial vessels and airplanes belonging to the United States, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, and Great Britain are prohibited from operating in China’s near seas — also known as the Yellow Sea, East China Sea, and South China Sea — and will be met with the full fury of the People’s Liberation Forces where they are found in violation.
The response of the American administration and State Department was tepid in comparison, citing international norms and freedom of navigation rights without accusing the Chinese of recklessness. However, those inside the administration and Defense Department kept a tight lid on the Triton video of the collision, waiting for an opportune time to “set the hook” and discredit the Beijing mouthpieces.
USS Hancock passed through another time zone.
Over 700 miles west of Coos Bay, and with the nearest land the northern tip of Vancouver Island, the ship was still in the gravitational pull of North America as it sped along a great-circle route that would take it close to the Aleutians en route to who knew where. Outside, the air and sea surface temperatures fell each passing hour and scattered scud clouds hovered low over the cobalt blue sea. Silhouetted on the sharp horizon three miles north was the cruiser Cape St. George and to the southeast, in trail, was the guided-missile destroyer Earl Gallaher, both with crisp white “bones in their teeth” as they maintained position on Hanna, speeding along at 25 knots in light seas. High winds blew among the aircraft parked on the jammed flight deck, canopies down and engine turbine blades chattering as the gusts rotated them in a natural chime. Despite the sunshine, most sailors were below in an effort to stay warm.
In the rush to get personnel and supplies aboard, the crews of all three ships were assessing what they had — and what they were missing. The surface combatants had left San Diego with full magazines and fuel bunkers. Hanna, however, had gotten underway with only the bombs and missiles she had aboard. It would have to do until she could rendezvous with the ammo ship USNS Wally Schirra near Japan and take on a full load-out. Hundreds of miles ahead of their track were the other surface combatants of the Hancock Strike Group. Once joined, they would form the most powerful air-sea force in the Pacific Ocean.
Commanding this force was Rear Admiral Randy “The Big Unit” Johnson, a popular leader, and a Hornet pilot like Wilson. Van Wert had met with him the day before they sailed and relayed orders from Admirals Maitland and Clark. Van Wert had told Johnson to “haul ass” toward the Philippines and to stay out of sight for as long as they could, not at all easy for a carrier even if she stayed away from the sea lanes. They hoped, as much as planned, that the Chinese would be surprised once the strike group was detected, too late to track it. The Americans could then maneuver and bring combat power to bear from the Second Island Chain to Singapore, a distance of nearly 3,000 miles. With a “crippled” John Adams in Guam and the Indian Ocean carrier a week away from the restricted waters off Malacca, Hancock was the closest carrier the United States could send at the moment.
Johnson convened his brain trust around the table in his large in-port cabin. With Johnson at the head, Ted Leaf sat next to Wilson along with the Chief of Staff, Destroyer Squadron Commodore, and other senior officers including Wilson’s Deputy, Weed. The Admiral’s staff stood along the bulkhead and in the lounge area, waiting for tasking.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the latest. The PLA(N) has put to sea and is moving toward the Senkaku Islands and the South China Sea. Their Air Force is up and dispersed, and their rocket forces are on high alert. Six divisions of PLA troops have mobilized off Taiwan, and their fishing fleet, outside of what they call their near seas, is being recalled. Wouldn’t be surprised if there are Chinese fishermen out here in the middle of nowhere. If there are, they are heading west like we are.
“There are over 250,000 American—American—citizens in mainland China. Most live there, but many are trying to get out ASAP. The Chinese, of course, are dragging their feet and these Amcits, along with John Adams’ crew in Hong Kong, are bargaining chips for the regime to keep us away from the mainland.”
Wilson and the others remained focused on the admiral, waiting for more.