“Task force commander, this is Commander Wong of the Chengdu. I await orders to commence fire. Over.”
“Commander Wong,” Zhang said. “Did you think your submarine hunting stunt would go unnoticed?”
“No, sir. I thought it wise if—”
“Silence!”
Wong clenched his jaw.
“Why should I think you are smart enough to recognize a rhetorical question when you’re not smart enough to carry out a very simple order?”
He found himself in a scholarly trap. If he answered, he reinforced his accuser’s point, but silence would seem like insubordination, doubling Zhang’s fury. He chose to inflict more rage rather than admit stupidity.
“So, Wong. You have nothing to say for yourself?”
“I must apologize, sir. I made a decision that I deemed prudent for the defense of our forces, but the search proved unnecessary.”
“Don’t you apologize to me, Wong! Do you think that showing meekness now, after you’ve defied and embarrassed me, will give you a shred of hope of retaining command of your vessel? Do I need to remind you that I indeed have the authority to strip you of your command, replace you, and have you tossed into the brig?”
As Wong pondered another scholarly trap, a sonic boom cut the night, and a small explosion illuminated a landing craft off his port quarter.
“What was that? Task force commander — out!” Zhang said.
Wong exhaled as he realized that divine providence rained down destruction upon his countrymen, killing his comrades but preserving his command — at least until his next conversation with Zhang.
As long as the Chengdu remained his, he would command it, and he switched the radio circuit to an internal network.
“Operations center,” he said, “tell me what’s going on.”
His operations officer replied with a tense voice.
“I’m not sure, sir. It’s unlike anything we’ve seen.”
Another boom ripped through the air, and another explosion shot from the same landing craft.
His subconscious mind taking over, he realized something odd about the attack. The explosions seemed too small for warheads, and whatever struck the landing craft hadn’t destroyed the tiny vessel with two hits. But the weapon struck with accuracy, as if guided.
A fuzzy image of a potential weapon formed in his mind, but nothing real registered.
“Is it coming from Thitu?” he asked.
“No, sir,” the operations officer said. “It’s coming from the southeast.”
“What’s out there to the southeast?” Wong asked.
He looked on his display, seeing but disbelieving the answer.
“Nothing, sir. Absolutely nothing!”
Another boom and explosion, followed by reports of a fire breaking out on the landing craft, which continued onward but at reduced speed.
“Something is launching weapons at our landing vessels. Give me information. Speed of the weapon. Trajectory. Radar cross section. Give me something!”
Another boom and explosion hit a second landing craft, as if guided by divine eyes. Wong began a silent countdown in expectation of the next hit.
“There must be an error, sir.”
“Tell me what you have.”
“The projectiles are moving at Mach 7.”
Another boom and explosion. Five seconds separated the rounds.
“Say again.”
“Mach 7, sir. Their radar cross sections are smaller than three-inch cannon rounds, and we can barely detect them. The other ships with inferior systems can’t even track them. Only we can.”
Boom.
“Do you have the trajectories? Can you trace them to their source?”
“Yes, sir. Due to the speed and small radar cross sections, this is rough, but the source is over a hundred nautical miles away.”
“Are these self-propelled projectiles?”
Boom, but the second craft under assault continued towards Thitu undaunted. He overheard reports of the craft’s hull being punctured by tiny holes and its armored vehicles being punctured as well, but the boat maintained its propulsion and structural integrity.
“No, sir. We would see contrails or exhaust plumes or something on infrared. We don’t see anything but hot air heated by friction, and the incoming weapons are following ballistic trajectories.”
Boom.
“Nothing without self-propulsion can follow a ballistic trajectory that far except…”
“Yes, sir?”
While he struggled to utter his thoughts, another explosion cut its target, and an engine on the second craft caught fire. Half the landing force had been slowed before reaching a fourth of the way to its destination.
“A railgun,” he said.
Another boom and explosion, this time on a new victim. A third craft suffered a puncture wound in a fuel tank, setting off a deafening explosion that echoed across the waves.
“There are no railguns deployed, sir, except for the American Zumwalt-class destroyer, and every Zumwalt-class ship is accounted for. It can’t be a Zumwalt.”
Boom, and a small explosion rose from the final landing craft.
“There’s a Philippine frigate in the general area of the launch platform, sir. It may have been fitted with a railgun.”
Boom.
The thought of a fifty-three-year-old converted coast guard cutter ruining his already tragic day sickened him. Groping for a solution, he realized that the shells were hitting rapid targets with alarming accuracy, even as he overheard his comrades’ failed attempts at evasive maneuvers.
Boom.
Something guided them, and that meant that their guidance could be thwarted. He sought a countermeasure.
“Can you detect any guidance communications?” he asked.
“Hold on, sir,” the operations officer said. “I need to scan for that. Give me thirty seconds.”
Boom.
While his staff sought jamming frequencies, he considered a simpler solution — the electromagnetic befuddlement of chaff.
He switched frequencies to the hail the task force commander.
“Jinggang Shan, this is Chengdu. Over.”
“Chengdu, this is task force commander. What’s going on? You have the best sensory systems in the group. Tell me who and what is attacking us!”
“Sir, I believe it’s a railgun, most likely mounted aboard the Philippine frigate, Gregorio del Pilar.”
“My landing force is being assaulted by hypervelocity munitions, and you tell me a relic over a hundred miles away is responsible?”
“They must have stolen or purchased American technology, sir. But I have an idea. Send the entire task force northwest to open range from the attack. Even railguns have limits on their reach.”
“I know that! I’m already heading northwest, you moron!”
Wong’s stomach tightened as he realized that he dealt with a frightened idiot.
“I mean the entire landing force, including what’s left of the landing craft. Have them slow down, pop chaff, and hide under their chaff. Have them huddle together under a combined chaff cloud and then work their way northwest as fast as the chaff will allow.”
“Wait,” Zhang said.
Another craft became hobbled but able to limp forward.
“I have given the order,” Zhang said.
“You must also order the nearest frigate to sprint towards the landing craft and escort them northwest. The frigate may have enough chaff to carry them out of harm’s way.”
Four more rounds struck targets, and Wong feared that Zhang would relieve him of command as he watched his landing force die a death of a thousand cuts.