Shattered Trident - Страница 68

9 September 2016

0145 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis took a healthy slurp of coffee while he read the initial intelligence reports on the missile attacks. It didn’t look good. He’d been called at his residence as soon as NORAD put out the warning. Fifteen minutes later he was in his office. His staff came in dribs and drabs a few minutes behind him. After a quick review of the situation, the CSO sent half the staff back home, but not before announcing that they were now on a port and starboard watch rotation. A sharp knock at the door pulled Simonis’s attention from the reports. His operations officer was in the doorway with a carafe in his hand.

“Need a recharge, Commodore?”

“Sure, Rich, come on in.”

Walker strode over and poured fresh hot coffee into Simonis’s half-empty mug.

“Did you see these reports?” Simonis inquired, pointing to the intel assessments.

“Yes, sir. It would appear this war is taking a turn for the worse.”

“Ha!” Simonis blurted. “Mr. Walker, you are a master of the understatement!” The commodore picked up the last report and read from its key judgments.

“At 1710 Zulu time PLA Second Artillery units executed multiple ballistic missile strikes against targets in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and the Philippines. While ballistic missile defenses were moderately effective, numerous missiles still reached their targets. Moderate to heavy casualties are expected.”

Simonis threw the paper back down onto his desk. “That’s not just a turn for the worse, Mr. Walker. It’s the first step on a very slippery slope that will lead to a nuclear exchange!”

The operations officer was surprised by Simonis’s fierce outburst. The attack on the Littoral Alliance nations was shocking, to be sure, but they were still limited, given China’s conventional ballistic missile capability. If China really wanted to plaster the targets they were after, the strikes would have been much larger. Furthermore, the attacks were largely on legitimate alliance military and oil infrastructure facilities—missile strikes on civilian population centers were a rare occurrence. In the operations officer’s mind, this attack was long overdue, a logical reaction to Littoral Alliance cruise missile attacks on Chinese oil refineries and tank farms.

Come to think of it, Walker didn’t remember Simonis reacting so strongly to the initial strikes by alliance cruise missiles, and those were attacks against targets on Chinese soil. For the commodore to suddenly jump straight to the conclusion that the war would inevitably go nuclear seemed a bit of a stretch. China didn’t need to go down that path, and indeed seemed to be avoiding it, as India hadn’t been targeted at all.

“Sir, how can you say that?” Walker protested. “This attack was expected, or should have been, given the Littoral Alliance’s strikes on Chinese oil refineries. And yet, China didn’t fire a single missile at India. That tells me China is trying hard to keep this conflict conventional.”

Simonis shook his head vigorously, his face grim. “Rich, you’re completely missing the big picture. When the Communist Party figures out they’re losing, they’ll go nuclear—they will have no other choice!”

Walker was stunned by Simonis’s conclusion that China was losing the war. The PRC had certainly been stung, but militarily they still had an advantage over the Littoral Alliance. However, before he could respond, the commodore’s yeoman knocked on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Commodore, but Dr. Patterson is on the secure line.”

“It’s about time,” Simonis mumbled as he grabbed the handset. “Dr. Patterson, good afternoon.”

“Good morning, Commodore, although the ‘good’ part is seriously being debated here in Washington,” she replied.

“I completely understand. The situation is deteriorating rapidly. However, I’m hoping you have some good news for me.”

“You’re correct. The president wants you to recall your submarines. They are to return to Guam as fast as the tactical situation allows. We’ve done what we can and it’s time to evacuate the area.”

Simonis’s shoulders relaxed noticeably, as if a heavy weight had just been removed. “I will do so with pleasure, ma’am. The order will go out in ten minutes. Please express my gratitude to the president.”

“I will when I get the chance. Good luck, Commodore.”

“And to you, Dr. Patterson.” As the handset hit the cradle, Simonis looked at Walker and said, “Rich, I want a flash precedence message ordering all our boats to return to base. You have seven minutes.”

9 September 2016

0215 Local Time

USS North Dakota

West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

Jerry sat in the back of the radio room, replaying the last encounter with the Indian Akula in his mind. He ran through the scenario over and over again, trying to see where he’d made a mistake. The critical decision was to close the faint contact at high speed. On the one hand, if he hadn’t charged, the Akula wouldn’t have detected North Dakota. On the other, if he hadn’t, the Indian would have fired off his second salvo and possibly cleared datum before Jerry could reacquire him. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, he said to himself.

“Skipper, sorry to disturb you,” interrupted the information technician, “but we have flash traffic coming in.”

Jerry looked at his watch with confusion; it hadn’t even been four minutes since they sent in their report. “That can’t be in response to our last message—way too quick of a turnaround.”

“It’s not, sir. This message is a recall order. I’m printing it out now.”

The printer behind Jerry’s head whined to life and kicked out a single sheet of paper. Grabbing it, he called out to Thigpen, “XO! Flash traffic!”

Thigpen stuck his head into radio seconds later. He too looked perplexed. “My, that was fast! Has our commodore moved a cot into the radio room?”

“No, XO. This isn’t about our incident report. It’s a recall order,” said Jerry as he handed the message to Thigpen.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Simonis refers to ‘continued escalation,’ no further explanation provided, as the reason for the president to order a withdrawal. We’re to return to base ASAP.”

The XO frowned, his voice heavy with cynicism. “It would have been nice to have gotten this an hour earlier!”

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done, Bernie. Send the ‘return home’ signal to Fargo, and select a rendezvous point away from our last meeting with the Akula.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” responded Thigpen. He handed the message to Jerry and darted back to control.

With his XO’s voice in the background, Jerry scribbled a response on the message printout and handed it to the IT. “Send this. Message received. Rendezvousing with UUV, will advise when we begin transit back to base.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the petty officer replied.

As the young sailor typed out his captain’s response, Jerry wondered what had happened to change the president’s mind. Whatever it was, he knew it had to have been really bad.

9 September 2016

0345 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis paced tensely in the back of the Squadron Fifteen operations watch floor. There was still no reply from Santa Fe acknowledging the recall order. Grumbling about Halsey’s ineptness, the commodore kept walking back and forth, stopping only to refill his mug. Between fatigue and overcaffeination, his patience was virtually nonexistent, his temper on a hair trigger.

Walker kept a watchful eye on his commodore. He knew Simonis was barely holding on, and had instructed all the watchstanders to give him a heads-up first when Santa Fe finally responded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Walker saw one of the duty ITs signaling him—the message was in. Shielding his right hand from view with his body, he made a typing motion. The petty officer nodded, clicked his mouse, and held up one finger; the message was coming out on printer number one. Walking slowly over to the printer bank, the operations officer pulled the message and read it quickly. His heart sank.

Simonis saw Walker’s expression, and demanded loudly, “What is it, Rich?”

“Santa Fe’s reported in, Commodore,” he answered.

“Well, it would seem that Commander Halsey likes to take his sweet time responding—”

“She’s been attacked, sir,” Walker added quickly.

“What?” Simonis’s expression changed instantly from anger to concern.

“Yes, sir.” Walker elaborated as he walked up the stairs to Simonis. “She got bounced by a Y-8 patrol aircraft, and took two depth charges close aboard. The port main engine is down, there is a bad main propulsion shaft rub, and both towed arrays are gone. Halsey also reports some personnel casualties, but nothing life-threatening.”

Simonis snatched the message from Walker, but before he even began reading it, barked, “What’s her position?”

“Sir, she’s currently near the western edge of her patrol zone, approximately forty nautical miles due east of the northeast tip of Hainan Island,” answered one of the watchstanders.

“She’s deep in Indian country, Commodore,” Walker observed, looking up at the large flat-panel display.