A video screen on the display blinked into life. One of the search-and-rescue helicopters, alerted to pick downed flight crews up out of the water, had turned an onboard digital camera on to bear witness to the missile attack.
As we watched in mute horror, the missiles streaked in, their red exhaust clearly visible against the dark ocean at night. Within the fleet, perhaps a dozen Gatling guns spewed tracer bullets at the missiles. They knocked several out of the air, maybe fifteen in total before the impacts started. Each missile shot down loosed a massive explosion that turned the night briefly into day. The fireballs seemed to sprint inexorably toward the carriers.
“No.” Bainbridge whispered the word. And then the explosions began.
The USS Theodore Roosevelt was the first carrier to die, hit by no fewer than eleven BrahMos missiles over the course of fifteen seconds. Each missile was armed with a 600-pound warhead and traveling with as much kinetic energy as a train moving 250 miles per hour. The Roosevelt vanished in a ball of flame, taking every man of her four thousand-plus crew with her.
The explosion that destroyed the Roosevelt was so large that perhaps ten more Chinese cruise missiles were destroyed by the fireball. Though that fact probably saved some lives, it did little to alter the fate of the Reagan and the Kennedy. Reagan took ten missile hits, Kennedy nine. In thirty seconds, three carriers had been totally destroyed, burned off the sea.
Four missiles were left to close in on the USS George Washington, the oldest of the carriers in Task Force 61. Two of the four missiles were exploded by the Washington's automatic Gatling guns.
As if God had finally intervened, one of the missiles inexplicably dove into a wave two-hundred yards from the Washington. The detonation threw out a cloud of shrapnel, but the effect was lost as the last Chinese cruise missile streaked into the Washington.
The last missile slammed into Washington’s side in a major fireball. The Washington lurched violently with the impact, its deck warping under the transfer of the missile’s kinetic energy into the structure of the ship. Washington ultimately survived the battle, though she lost a thousand crew to the impact and subsequent fire.
A silence descended upon the command center. Tears streamed down Admiral Bainbridge's face. “My God. So many dead.”
A technician, struggling to maintain composure, reported, “The F-35’s have enough fuel to divert to Guam. We should be able to get them all landed there. There are 129 F-35’s heading there now, admiral.”
Bainbridge said barely loud enough to hear, “Any preliminary casualty estimates?”
A technician answered, “The three carriers likely went down with all hands. The remaining ships will be carrying out rescue operations, and they might save most of the crew from the ASPIS ships that the subs hit. Our first casualty estimate…” The technician's voice broke.
Bainbridge sighed. “Let's hear it, son.”
“At least fourteen thousand dead. Probably half that many wounded.”
“This is the bloodiest day in the history of the Navy.” Bainbridge closed his eyes. “What are the Chinese losses?”
“We took out 72 bombers, 40 fighters, and twelve submarines. At least a thousand dead, maybe more.”
Bainbridge looked lost. “They massacred our strongest fleet. The war's over. What will we do now?”
I put my hand on the admiral’s shoulder. The old, broken man looked at me, his eyes red with tears. “The war isn’t over. Let me take the fight to them.”
The admiral gave me a long stare, as if remembering just now what I was doing there. Finally, he said, “We'll have to talk to the Secretary of Defense about it. But I will convey my recommendation that we give you the go ahead.”
He looked again at the screen, where the video feed from the helicopter was tracing over the carnage of Task Force 61. Icily, he added, “Make the bastards pay, Cortez.”
Chapter 3
Four hours later, Admiral Bainbridge escorted me into the office of the Secretary of Defense.
"Mr. Cortez, meet Secretary of Defense Edward Davenport III."
Hands were shaken. The Secretary was the pudgy scion of an ailing tire manufacturer who had ridden his family's name to several terms in Congress. His help in swaying Ohio to Rodriguez in the 2028 election went a long way in explaining how he had been appointed Secretary of Defense.
"Let's make this fast, Mr. Cortez, I'm briefing the President in twenty minutes on recovery operations after this morning's disaster. Admiral Bainbridge tells me you want to run your own war in China."
So it would be one of those meetings. "That's not quite how I'd phrase it, sir."
"How would you phrase it, Mr. Cortez?"
I'd make it sound like a good idea. "This is a zero-risk operation for you, sir. No American soldiers, no government money, not even any government resources spent getting us into place. I'll even buy our weapons outside the U.S."
"You are forgetting one aspect, Cortez. The Chinese might not be too happy with us if we start taking out targets in China."
I missed a beat out of shock. "They just killed, what, fourteen thousand American sailors and Marines? Can relations with China really get worse?"
Edward Davenport III sighed. "This is complicated for a businessman to understand. Right now, we're losing this war. Decisively. It may prove necessary to negotiate a peace with the Chinese. It will be much harder to come to an agreement if we've been carrying out attacks in mainland China."
"Are we trying to win the war or lose it gracefully?"
Davenport leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "I don't see the point of your questioning."
"Maybe it's too complicated for a politician to understand. Did the President order you to win this war?"
"Not in so many words, no."
I hadn't quite expected that response. Clearly, a different approach was called for. "Secretary Davenport, you are considered a front-runner to become the governor of Ohio in 2032, are you not?"
Davenport smiled, launching into his standard 2032 talking points. "It's far too early to discuss such things. The polls, well, I can't help what they say. I guess the people of Ohio are eager for real leadership and—"
I interrupted. "Wonderful. If you don't approve my operation and coordinate with the Taiwanese, I will personally ensure you are out-spent at least ten to one by your primary and general election opponents. Your opponents will get an unlimited fund for running negative ads against you. They can hire however many investigators and Internet sleuths it takes to find out about that time you looked at naked pictures of goddamn boy scouts. I can't think that's too complicated for a politician to understand, is it, Ed?"
President Gates didn't call me personally with the news, but Secretary of Defense Edward Davenport III called my cell phone thirty minutes after our conversation. He explained that, with his exuberant recommendation, the President had given the go ahead for intelligence and liaison support of my operation. "And thank you in advance, Mr. Cortez, for your service to the nation!"
I hung up. The American government had been relatively easy. Davenport's stupidity notwithstanding, it was obvious that for at least a few weeks, the U.S. would be unable to help Taiwan much. They'd want whatever good press they could get from our activities, give the public some victories to distract from the crushing defeat of Task Force 61.