Mitchell whistled low. “That’s next-level prep. Like the Oracle said, ‘You’re not here to make the choice. You’ve already made it.’”
“The choice to survive,” Ma agreed. “But calories don’t stop missiles.”
“No, sir. But they buy time.” Harrington stood again, moving to the display. “Commander Mitchell, show the President our deployment timeline.”
Mitchell pulled up a Gantt chart. “Week one — first Sea Guardians arrive. Our people work with your Navy to establish command protocols. Week two — Patriot batteries start landing. We integrate with your air-defense network.”
The timeline scrolled forward. “By week six, half the autonomous systems are operational. Week ten, full deployment. Week twelve, your operators achieve basic certification.”
“And if Beijing moves before week six?” Han asked.
“Then we fight with what we have.” Harrington’s voice hardened. “Every TSG operator knows the mission: protect the equipment, keep it operational, and make the PLA bleed for every meter.”
“Bluntly,” Mitchell added, “we’re speed bumps with guns, buying time for these systems to do their work.”
President Ma absorbed this. “Your casualties would be severe.”
“If we are at war with China, chances are, our casualties would be severe no matter where we fight.” Harrington spoke stoically, without a hint of emotion. “We’ve all made that calculation, Mr. President. If we didn’t die here, it’d be somewhere else.” The room fell silent.
“There’s something else you should consider,” Defense Minister Kao said slowly. “Public opinion. If American contractors die while defending Taiwan—”
“Then I’m sure the media will run with it.” Harrington nodded. “It’s no different than when American blood was spilled when volunteers chose to fight defending democracy in Ukraine, or any other fight.”
“You aren’t afraid your deaths might be used as propaganda?” Wu questioned.
“With social media and everyone having a phone dialed into the internet, I’m sure there will be a few viral moments.” Harrington met his gaze. “However, if six hundred Americans die while defending Taiwan’s freedom, that tells Beijing America isn’t abandoning its allies.”
President Ma stood, motioning for the others to stay seated while he walked to the window. The setting of the sun painted Taipei in beautiful golden hues. This was his country, his city, and it was his responsibility to defend it.
“You genuinely believe we can deter them?” Ma finally asked.
Harrington stood and joined him at the window. “Sir, I’ve fought in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, and a few other places in this world. I’ve seen determined people with inferior weapons hold off superpowers. You have superior weapons and determined people; that is not something to underestimate or dismiss lightly.”
Harrington gestured at the city below. “Twenty-one million free citizens,” he said. “A first-world economy, and democratic values. That’s worth protecting, Mr. President.”
Lieutenant General Wu stood slowly. “I’ve heard many briefings in my time, many assurances from friends and allies. This feels different.”
“It should,” Mitchell replied. “We’re not Pentagon staff officers who rose through the ranks making promises they can’t deliver. We’re the tip of the spear, the trigger-pullers they send when force is the only answer. We’re Uncle Sam’s hellions, his killers when there’s no other choice but violence of action.”
President Ma returned to his seat. “You mentioned blockade scenarios. Walk me through TSG’s response.”
Harrington nodded to Mitchell, who pulled up new overlays.
“A blockade requires surface vessels maintaining station.” Mitchell highlighted patrol zones. “Zealot boats operate in wolf packs. Ten boats, forty Hellfires. How many destroyers can they spare?”
“Submarines would be the real threat,” Han observed.
“Seeker XLUUVs hunt subs,” Mitchell acknowledged. “Forty-eight platforms with nearly six hundred torpedoes. We turn their advantage against them.”
“Air cover?”
“Patriots and Roadrunners create defensive bubbles. If there’s three thousand interceptors rotating through launch sites, their drones, helicopters, and aircraft face constant attrition.” The display showed radius circles expanding from Taiwan. “Push the defensive perimeter out two hundred miles, and you make their blockade stations untenable.”
“They could stand off further,” Wu suggested.
“Sure, but then shipping routes reopen.” Harrington spread his hands. “Blockades require proximity. Distance equals gaps. Plus, you have to keep in mind, the US Navy is going to wreak havoc on the PLA Navy. The Air Force is going to want a piece of the action too. This isn’t going to be a one-sided affair, by any means.”
President Ma studied the display, then sighed deeply. “Your assessment… honestly, can we really hold?”
Harrington met his gaze directly. “With full deployment? Preparation? Your people’s courage? Hell yeah, we can hold.”
The President stood, extending his hand. “Mr. Harrington, Commander Mitchell. On behalf of the people of Taiwan, I want to thank you for your steadfast dedication and your willingness to fight and die if necessary, defending our people.”
Harrington shook firmly. “The honor is ours, Mr. President, but let’s save the thanks for after we win. We’ve got work to do between now and then.”
As they prepared to leave, Ma asked one final question. “Humor me. Just tell me why. Why do you and your men choose this?”
Harrington paused at the door. “We’re warriors, Mr. President — sheep dogs who have chosen a life of service to protect the flock. We fight for those who can’t, to defend the cause of freedom,” Harrington explained. “I know it sounds silly. But some things matter more than living. Freedom, democracy — those ideas have to be fought for, and have to be defended. If we just give up, if we choose to look the other way, what kind of future does that leave those who come after us?”
Leaving the residence as they walked toward the waiting vehicles, Harrington felt good about the meeting. He really hoped it wouldn’t come to war with China.
But if it does, he thought, God help them. Because my men and I will unleash holy hell on them.
Chapter Seventeen:
Sky Soldiers
The C-130J Hercules banked hard left, and Captain Alex Mercer felt his stomach lurch. Through the porthole, Sweden’s unsinkable aircraft carrier materialized from Baltic haze — ninety miles of limestone and forest, ringed by cliffs that looked ready to repel invaders.
“Two minutes!” The loadmaster’s voice crackled through the cabin.
Mercer keyed his throat mic. “Blackjacks, final checks.”
Around him, thirty-four paratroopers from his advance party stirred. Body armor adjustments. Weapon slings. The familiar pre-insertion ritual that meant business was about to begin. First Sergeant Elijah “Big E” Tanner moved down the aisle like a prowling bear, checking gear with practiced eyes.
Senior NCO Daniel Holloway leaned close. “It’s too bad we can’t arrive via a combat jump, sir.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to make a first impression on the locals,” Mercer mused at the idea of him and his men parachuting into the Visby airport like an invading army. “But we’re here to assure the locals, not scare them.”