Shattered Trident - Страница 77

He changed the slide to show a cutaway diagram of the nose section. “The Self-Defense Agency, working with the Japanese Space Exploration Agency, has developed a simple modification that allows the vehicle to act as a ballistic missile, able to reach any location in China. Since it doesn’t have to reach orbit, it can carry a payload of six metric tons of explosive. Instead of a single unitary warhead, it will carry sixty one-hundred-kilogram charges, which will spread out over an area hundreds of meters across. Each charge includes an incendiary component as well as a high-explosive blast and fragmentation warhead.”

As he’d been describing first the vehicle and then the payload, Orihara had heard soft voices, then discussion, and finally the Filipino military delegate spoke. “How can you even consider this when your constitution explicitly forbids offensive weapons?” Other delegates were nodding as well, with expressions ranging from curiosity to concern.

Orihara looked to Minister Hisagi, who stood. The minister explained, “The self-defense clauses of the constitution were intended to prevent Japan initiating a war of aggression. They do not have any provision for what Japan should do if it is involved in a war of self-defense, or an alliance like this one. ‘Invincibility lies in the defense, the possibility of victory in attack.’”

Everyone understood the quote from Sun Tzu, some nodding their agreement. Hisagi pressed his point. “Only offensive weapons like this,” he said, pointing to the screen, “can carry our fight to the Chinese where they have been safe before.”

He paused, taking the time to look at each delegation. “The Japanese Diet has met in secret session, and is prepared to amend our constitution to allow the construction and use of offensive weapons.” This created a stir, and Hisagi quickly continued, “But we acknowledge and respect the security concerns of our allies and neighbors. The Diet has also agreed that any offensive weapons developed by Japan will be placed under the joint control of the Littoral Alliance, and will be used only against targets approved by the alliance.”

Orihara was watching the group, and could see their expressions change from concern to relief. Confusion was replaced by approval. Almost all the delegates looked convinced, including the Filipino general who’d raised the question. Targeting was already jointly controlled by the alliance. This would simply be another weapon in their arsenal, and a powerful one.

Hisagi sat, and Orihara continued his brief. “Work on Ryusei began soon after the Chinese missile attacks on our capitals. We have reached the point where we are confident the weapon can be successfully developed, and are therefore asking for the working group’s permission to complete the work. We expect to have three missiles ready for launch in several days.”

He brought up the map of the Chinese oil refineries again, but now an arc appeared, reaching from the Japanese launch facility at Tanegashima deep into the Chinese interior. “We are recommending that the first target be the Yumen Refining and Petrochemical plant in western Gansu province, and that it be attacked by all three missiles. Not only is this a major refinery serving western China, but a pipeline from this refinery supplies the Lanzhou refinery to the east.

“We can launch two missiles simultaneously from the Tanegashima facility, and the third six hours later. They should reduce the facility’s output to near zero, and the best part is that the Chinese are virtually powerless to stop them.”

22. PREEMPTION

12 September 2016

1400 Local Time

USS North Dakota

Apra Harbor, Guam

Standing on the flying bridge, Jerry watched in silence as his boat entered Apra Harbor. Even though he was physically present, he felt detached from what was going on around him. Part of his brain recognized and understood the conning orders that were given, the radio exchanges with the tugs, and the reports from the OOD. But the rest of him was some two thousand miles away, in the South China Sea. He spoke only when absolutely necessary, and even then it was usually just a curt, emotionless, “Very well.”

Bernie Thigpen looked up from the deck and saw his captain standing ramrod straight up on the sail. Since the loss of Santa Fe, the skipper had become withdrawn, reclusive; he seemed to intentionally shun human interaction. He took the normal reports as required by his duties as a commanding officer, but that was all. He hadn’t attended even one meal in the wardroom during the last three days. Hell, Thigpen wasn’t sure he ate much at all. He knew Mitchell had hardly slept; the light in his stateroom had been on the whole time. The only thing delivered to his stateroom was one carafe of coffee after another.

The XO had tried to get his captain to talk, but he didn’t have much success. On those rare occasions that Thigpen did get a response, it was always cryptic. During his last attempt, he pressed the issue: “What could you have done to change the outcome, Skipper? The situation was completely out of your control! You can’t hold yourself accountable for what happened.”

Jerry’s reaction was completely unexpected. His face flashed with intense anger. Seething, he replied in low, guttural voice, “Santa Fe was my responsibility! I was ordered to get her home safely. I failed! And I left her entire crew behind.”

Although shocked by the explosive, visceral response, Thigpen saw past the anger and noted the pain in Jerry’s eyes. Coming to his senses, Jerry apologized to Thigpen, and thanked him for his concern. Despite the XO’s best efforts, Jerry refused to talk about it again. However, while in the head one evening, Thigpen overheard his skipper talking to himself. Leaning quietly against the door, Thigpen heard, “In times of adversity, you can turn to no one else.” He immediately recognized the phrase from Senator Hardy’s speech at the change of command ceremony.

* * *

North Dakota eased slowly into the inner harbor, and as the tugs turned her about, Jerry noted two Virginia-class submarines tied up to the submarine tender’s starboard side. Raising his binoculars, he looked at the name placards on the sails—USS Texas and USS North Carolina. Ironically, he hadn’t noticed the Burke-class Aegis destroyer anchored in the outer harbor.

Before the brow was even in place, Jerry swung over the top of the sail, and climbed down the ladder to the deck. Thigpen was waiting for him by the brow with a locked pouch and a key. Jerry nodded as he took the key and put it in his pocket. Reaching for the pouch he said, “Do what you can to get fresh provisions, XO. Right now, I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen next, so we might as well get ready for anything.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Thigpen replied. “Good luck with the commodore.”

“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

Jerry saluted the ensign, and strode across the gangplank. On the pier, standing at attention, was the same petty officer that had picked Jerry up during his previous visit. The young sailor stood rock steady, patiently holding the car door open. But this time, Jerry firmly shook his head no, pointed forcefully down the street, then turned sharply and started walking. The shocked look on the petty officer’s face caused Thigpen to laugh out loud. “That poor kid is going to have a heart attack,” he mumbled to himself.

* * *

Simonis paced back and forth in his office. The clock read 1525. North Dakota had tied up over twenty minutes ago—Commander Mitchell was late. The driver the CSO had sent down to the pier called back in a panic: North Dakota’s skipper insisted on walking to squadron headquarters. Both Jacobs and Walker found it amusing, and understandable. Even Simonis begrudgingly admitted that a good leg-stretching walk after a stressful patrol was therapeutic, but he had little patience for such self-indulgences. He’d lost a boat assigned to his squadron, and he desperately wanted to know more of the details, the ones that weren’t included in North Dakota’s initial report.

Except for the clock’s ticking, and Simonis’s occasional grumble, the office was quiet. The commodore was in no mood for casual conversation and Jacobs and Walker knew better than to try and start one. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the yeoman knocked at the door.

“Commodore, Commander Mitchell is here.”

“Send him in,” Simonis demanded.

Jerry stepped smartly into the office and proceeded directly to Simonis. Stopping just short of the commodore, he came to attention and reported. “Commanding Officer, USS North Dakota reporting as ordered, sir.”

Simonis appeared to approve of the formal greeting. Nodding, he extended his hand. “Welcome home, Captain,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” Jerry replied as he grasped the commodore’s hand.

“I trust you remember my chief staff officer and operations officer,” said Simonis, gesturing first to Jacobs, then Walker.

“Of course.” Jerry reached over and shook their hands.

Simonis then motioned toward the conference table. “Be seated, gentlemen.”

As soon as Jerry sat down, he opened the locked pouch and pulled out an annotated chart, a bound report, and a DVD. Unfolding the chart, he positioned it so that Simonis could see it clearly.

“Before we start,” interrupted Jacobs, “would you like some coffee, Captain?”

“No… no, thank you. I think I’ve had my annual allowance already,” Jerry responded hesitantly.