“Here’s an overhead message from PACFLT… overhead time tomorrow 1630 local… and we need to be at 45 degrees north and 177 west. Well, well, we’re gettin’ a COD and an E-2 comin’ out of Midway. Flip, your Hummer boys will be happy to get an extra aircraft. Blower, you have to find a spot to park it.”
Blower smiled. “We will, sir, but I am concerned about the overhead time. That’s close to sundown, and we may be in the middle of this cold front coming down from Siberia.” He plotted the assigned position and stroked his chin.
“Admiral, that’s a thousand miles away, about 400 miles south of Adak. I’m going to need better than a 31-knot PIM to make that, and with the seas coming up as we expect, that’s a tall order, not to mention veering right for this crossing tanker in a few hours.”
Johnson nodded his understanding. “The escorts won’t be able to stay with us, and we must refuel them on the other side of the International Date Line. What do you recommend?”
“Sir, we can kick it up a few turns now in light seas and get ahead of PIM, but we’ll pull away from Cape St. George and Earl Gallaher during the night. And, at recovery time tomorrow, they’ll be about a hundred miles behind us. Won’t have an escort, and by being so spread out it complicates our traffic avoidance. No visual comms….”
Johnson considered the plusses and minuses. PACFLT had sent a message—Be at this position at this time and expect two aircraft—and he had no way to transmit a response without emitting and exposing himself to detection. Who knew what the Chinese had out here? Their fishing boats would report a sighting at once, as could a sympathetic lookout on a merchant ship. Some guy sitting in a coach window seat could look down from an airliner flying at 35,000 feet, recognize an aircraft carrier, and put it on social media. And now the weather was a factor. Damn, this is never easy.
“All right,” Johnson said. “Let’s kick it up. Blower and Flip, need a helo to fly me to Cape St. George this afternoon, after we cross this tanker. Want to give them the plan face-to-face; keep the bird turning. I’ll be no more than fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Wilson answered, and the meeting broke up as Blower contacted the bridge. Minutes later, a blinking light message from Hancock alerted her escorts that the carrier was speeding up, and to maintain position as best as practicable.
CHAPTER 17
In time for the evening news, and after a day of Chinese accusations, the Defense Department released the Triton video.
While millions around the world interpreted the video according to the side they were sympathetic to, even PLA headquarters had to admit this was not what was reported from Zhanjiang, and not what was reported to Zhanjiang from Blood Moon. Most of the developed world, made up of China’s important trading partners — who were also the important trading partners of the United States — could see that Chinese recklessness was the cause of the collision. Official Beijing was embarrassed, but could not show humiliation to the world or her people. The foreign office stepped up the rhetoric and the pressure.
This clearly doctored “video” from law-breaking Americans who are trying to escape the consequences of violating Chinese sovereignty will not dissuade China from defending her territory on land or sea. The fact remains that illegal American spy planes violate our airspace and territorial waters on a regular basis, and have for years. What do you expect when a foreign hegemon sparks tensions in a heavily defended part of China that is surrounded by unfriendly nations and is under almost constant attack? The Americans got what they deserved, but our brave son did not. His death serves as an inspiration for the millions of patriots that defend China in the People’s Liberation Army, and is on the hearts of over one billion under heaven who mourn his spirit.
We warn America now. Do not send your warships and warplanes into our territorial seas. If the People’s forces detect you in violation, you will not be warned again.
American policymakers and military leaders, from the President to Jim Wilson, took the Chinese at their word. However, the propaganda from Beijing was an effective weapon in most of the world. Nobody wanted war, including Beijing and Washington, but most of the world saw the United States as the aggressor, despite the fact that, compared to over 300 American dead sailors and some 1,500 held captive, only one Chinese pilot had been lost. The Americans remained silent, and ships like Hancock and dozens of Air Force transports and combat aircraft ignored mere words and continued west at a steady pace.
Aboard Hancock, Wilson considered that once again he was heading to war, albeit slowly at 30 knots. When combat was joined, what would they be facing? Fourth-generation J-11s? J-10s? Their fifth-gen J-20 stealth fighter?
He gazed at the chart of the SCS he had taped to the bulkhead: Blood Moon Atoll, Song Ca Island, Stingray Reef, Yawu Cay. China had runways, piers, and antiaircraft defenses from light AAA to big S-400 SAMs on these man-made islands they had constructed in months. From them they could bottle up the approaches coming north out of Malacca and Singapore and shut down seaborne trade to Vietnam and the Philippines. To the north, off Hainan, the PRC owned much of the Paracels Group, a scattering of islands with outposts featuring deepwater ports and runways capable of supporting fighters and bombers. The PRC could defend their island outposts with fighters from Hainan and the mainland on a single tank of gas, unlike Wilson and other American forces that needed to coordinate refueling from Air Force “big-wing” tankers in order to get to the scene of action.
Above him on the flight deck, Wilson heard the turning rotor blades of the MH-60 Sierra. It would take the admiral to Cape St. George, just visible on the horizon behind them. Blower had pulled the rods, and Hancock was sprinting to recover the E-2 and C-2 in some 24 hours. The 1MC sounded.
Ding, ding… ding, ding… ding, ding. Carrier Strike Group Twenty, departing.
Wilson checked the PLAT monitor and saw the admiral and three other staff officers being led to the helo. They leaned into the high, gusty winds whipping around them. The Sierra would have The Big Unit aboard the cruiser in ten minutes, the admiral’s last chance to have a face-to-face with his senior surface combatant commander before a battle that could begin in a week.
How is this going to begin? Wilson wondered. And what are those guys thinking?
In Beijing, eighteen hours ahead of Hancock, it was midmorning. Marshal Dong and Admiral Qin discussed the release of the American videotape on the secure line. Both sensed the Americans would retaliate, and soon.
“Comrade Admiral, how do you assess the American videotape? Are we to blame after all?”
“Marshal Dong, pilots are known for their wild tales. While I am not a pilot, my experts tell me that the American lunged his airplane and caused the collision as our pilots were trying to warn them away from our island bastion. That said, my own instincts tell me our pilots were too aggressive. Between us, Marshal, we must shoulder blame.”
“Young Hu is revered as a hero of the People’s Republic. We will not acknowledge that anyone but the Americans are to blame.”