“Sir,” said a frowning Deng. “I thought you just agreed to trade grain for oil. You told President Clark—”
The Chairman was shaking his head as it rested against the wheelchair’s back. “It is much too late for peace. Our interior people want food now. They are storming police stations and setting them alight. No. We must take their minds off their hunger. If nothing else, a good shooting war will glue them to their TVs and computers. Then, once we take Alaska and once the Americans realize their helplessness against us—” The Chairman smiled tiredly. “Knowledge of a supine America and the coming food tribute will keep the people quiet long enough until our stores brim with American bread and potatoes.”
“What about the American ASBMs?” Deng asked.
The Chairman regarded the Army Minister.
The old marshal sat forward, his sculptured face showing eager readiness.
“You will take out every American recon satellite that can scan into the Pacific Ocean,” the Chairman said. “Then we must use refueling tankers to keep our laser-armed planes near the invasion fleet. If any of the enemy ASBMs launch, we must have the swift capacity to destroy them.”
“What about tomorrow, sir?” Deng asked. “What will you tell President Clark then?”
From his wheelchair and as he exposed his yellowed teeth, the Chairman said, “That, Energy Minister, will be my surprise. I believe my surprise might end the war before it begins, with Alaska as the newest province of our growing empire.”
-9-
Contact
Captain Han of the Chinese Space Service settled a virtual reality (VR) helmet over his head. He was in a remote controlling “pit” and sat on a padded chair. He wore a flight suit, with attached lines snaking to routers and infrared sensors in the tubular-shaped wall around him. After fitting on the VR helmet, he thrust his hands into twitch gloves.
This was the latest in remote-control technology. Above and around him sat techs with monitors, watching his heart rate and other biological functions as others watched his weapons system. They were underground in a nuclear-blast protected heavy bunker.
Today, Captain Han would control one of three of China’s latest space-superiority missiles. His pit and assorted personnel were in one of the hexes of the Nexus Command Center.
“Are you ready, Captain?”
Han rechecked his systems. Everything worked. He nodded and managed to say, “Yes.”
“Pit Number Three, ready,” an unseen officer said.
Time ticked by. Finally, Han’s VR helmet hummed with life. Images appeared before him: clouds high in the sky. He used his twitch gloves and shifted the missile’s cameras. Trucks raced away from a launch pad.
“His heart rate is increasing,” a tech said.
“Relax, Captain. You’ll do fine.”
“Should we shut down his systems during liftoff?” a different tech asked.
“Negative. We need to test them.”
“Test on a day like this?”
“When else do you suggest? We’ve never actually used these systems before in battle.”
“What if something goes wrong?”
“Shhh. Do you want the Air Commodore to hear you?”
There was silence after that as the techs worked. Han waited in the pit as his stomach began to tighten. Through his helmet, he watched a bird fly across the sky.
“Get ready, Captain,” a tech said. “Liftoff is T-minus thirty.”
“I’m ready,” said Han, his mouth dry. He knew what he was supposed to do. He’d been thinking about it during the preparation. This was the greatest space attack in history, and he was afraid it might trigger World War Three.
I don’t want a nuclear holocaust. The Americans are sure to have located Nexus Command. If China and America exchanged nuclear weapons, this place would cease to exist, of that he had no doubt. Han knew the government had poured time, tech and money into building an impenetrable bunker, but he was sure it couldn’t survive a direct nuclear hit.
“Relax, Captain, you’ll do fine,” a tech said again.
Han had total faith in his abilities. He was the best in China at remote controlling. It was the results after the space attack that he wasn’t so sure about. By the tech’s nervous voice and constant reassurances, Han realized the tech also knew this could be the end of the world for them in this underground facility.
“All right,” another tech said. “This is it. Ten…nine…eight…”
Boost phase had lasted five minutes, sending Han’s King of Heaven missile into Low Earth Orbit.
“All systems are on,” a tech said. “It’s your show, Captain.”
Han’s mouth had dried out even more, making it impossible to speak. With his integrated VR system, he could have sworn he’d felt the vibration of the climbing King of Heaven, the roar of the three-stage rocket. Virtual reality imaging—it had become almost too good.
“Captain Han?” a tech said.
Han tried to swallow so he get could enough moisture in his mouth to speak.
“His heart rate is increasing.”
“Inject him!”
“No,” Han said. He didn’t want any drugs. He didn’t want to mar his thinking. His mind was his greatest asset, and the thought of fiddling with it through drugs frightened him.
“Hurry, Doctor, his heart rate has jumped again. You must inject him.”
Down in the pit, Han shook his head. “No injections, please,” he managed to whisper.
“Did you say something, Captain?”
“Please, no—”
There was a stab of pain in his shoulder. Han blinked rapidly. They had injected him. They had just done it.
“Captain, you must concentrate. The first target is coming into range. Captain! Can you hear me?”
Han blinked rapidly. They had injected him. They were modifying his behavior through drugs. How dare they do that to him. He was the best remote controller in China. Didn’t they understand what that meant?
“What’s wrong with him?” a tech asked.
“Captain Han!”
“I see it,” Han whispered. There was a cooling sensation in his mind. He was calmer. “Energizing now,” he said, twitching his gloves.
The massive King of Heaven missile had a nuclear power-plant embedded in it. It was to provide the energy for the missile’s long-range pulse-laser. The laser would need the strength and range in order to destroy the American GPS satellites high in geosynchronous orbit. The King of Heaven would need the nuclear power to destroy other American satellites afterward.
“Engaging laser,” said Han, who began to target the first GPS satellite.
Klaxons wailed as the base’s silos began opening like flowers. Moments later, the first ASBM missiles began to emerge for liftoff. They were the TX Mod-3. The “T” stood for Triton, the “X” was for Experimental. “Mod-3” meant this was the third major modification of the Triton missile type.
The base’s commander watched from his bunker. He knew the President was dubious about this. The GPS satellites and other recon satellites were gone, swept away by the Chinese sneak attack. The Joint Chiefs had probably told the President the ASBMs wouldn’t be any good without real-time information.
At least our ABM lasers killed those Chinese laser-firing missiles, but not before they destroyed our most critical space assets.
The base commander grinned tightly. The Chinese hadn’t counted on the Mod-3 Triton. The Mod-3 was linked to over-the-horizon radar stations, and even now, the Navy was launching UAVs. The missiles would use data gained from those high-flying drones.