A still dejected Weed said nothing.
“I need you, man. Don’t worry about yesterday. I need you today. I don’t have a ton of faith in Mother, and I’m worried about Olive. Worried about you, too, but I know you can do this and need you to. If you can’t, let me know now.”
Weed let a second pass before he lifted his head to answer with clear eyes.
“I’m on it.”
“Great. Let me know what you need.”
Qin was incredulous. “How did we lose a People’s fighter jet and pilot to an unarmed containership?”
His Chief of Staff stood before the admiral’s desk with the report from Blood Moon. Only the messenger, he read the answer to Qin’s question with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Comrade Admiral, the report says the J-11 was sprayed by shrapnel fragments from a previous bomb hit and burst into flame with no attempt by the pilot to save himself. No damage to the other aircraft, and they watched the containership sink.”
Qin shook his head in disgust. On what should have been a milk run, the People’s Liberation Forces had lost a precious combat asset due to incompetence. Are our combat pilots that inept? We are killing ourselves! Qin fumed inside. The well-trained and experienced Americans would slaughter his green pilots in a direct confrontation, and, even with interior lines, he could not supply his frontline outposts fast enough. Long distances posed a problem to the Americans, but they could overcome it. They always did.
With their damned carriers!
His lone PLA(N) carrier, Liaoning, was a glorified experiment, a Russian hand-me-down and no match for an American nuclear-powered supercarrier. The Americans were biding their time off Guam now and would soon move on him. Even with Hancock damaged, and most of John Adams’ crew in custody, the Americans reloaded and prepared to attack. They just adapted, and had a knack for innovation. Liaoning was a cheap knockoff, a sideshow for the cameras; Qin could not risk it in this confrontation.
His orderly entered with another dispatch from the ops center and handed it to the Chief of Staff. He scanned it and handed it to Qin.
“They’re coming, Comrade Admiral.”
Qin scanned the intelligence report. The long-planned — and dreaded — showdown with the Americans was at hand. Fishing militia and neutral merchant sightings reported two aircraft carriers and one helicopter carrier inside the second chain and moving toward the Philippine archipelago. They had hundreds of miles of ocean to traverse, but, unless stopped or harassed, could be in a position to strike inside the Near Seas in 48 hours. One American stealth destroyer named Michael S. Speicher was reported someplace along the second island chain, carrying dozens of land-attack missiles known for their high degree of accuracy. The fact that the Americans were coming increased his chances of bagging a big ship, and now was the time for the PRC to show its hand. Qin knew once he deployed the People’s secret, the clock would work against him.
“Send the order. Deploy Heaven’s Shield tonight according to plan.”
“I will see to it myself, Comrade Admiral. However, the latest report shows only three-quarter strength.”
“It will have to do for now. We must erode their forces where we can, keep them off balance, and slow their advance — even before they reach the shield. How many DF-21s do we have remaining?”
“Comrade Admiral, after the initial volley, we are down to half. Production is one missile per week, and that is with round-the-clock shifts.”
Qin stroked his chin. “Very well, but we must expend some to throw them off. Authorize the Southern Sea Fleet Commander that if he can achieve a close targeting solution on a carrier with an even chance of success, he should take the chance. Luck may be with us. Meanwhile, report that our J-11 was lost to surface fire from a hostile merchant not showing a flag, and that any merchant we find inside our near seas, down to 300 kilometers north of Singapore, is fair game. Anything outside of Vietnamese or Philippine territorial waters, containerships to banca boats, is fair game. Increase the heat and get the Americans to attack us in the near seas from afar, before they are ready. And no more blunders by our pilots. Every weapon must find its mark.”
“It will be done, Comrade Admiral,” the Chief of Staff answered, and spun for the door.
Alone in his office to think, Qin considered the situation. Sinking a big ship. It was his only strategy. Removing a carrier’s combat power from the equation was a valid military objective, but it was the shaping of American resolve and public opinion he was after. He dreamed of seeing a carrier in flames, listing hard, with airplanes sliding off the deck and into the sea. He imagined the stern high in the air before the massive flattop plunged into the depths. Such an image would shock the world, make a mockery of invincible American military might, and force Washington to negotiate. The PRC would control everything in the Western Pacific and continue to hold Guam at risk.
But how to do it? A DF-21 was the first choice, a flaming javelin from the heavens. Blowing an enormous hole in the side with a hypersonic cruise missile was another method, or a spread of torpedoes at the keel, breaking her back. If he could only find a carrier, and track it, and get close enough to attack it. Every part of the PLA would be needed to sink a big ship. Sinking one would be a challenge. He then realized that, despite the damage PLA and militia forces had dealt them, the Americans were not afraid to close with him. That gave him pause.
The Americans were not responding to type.
CHAPTER 45
As night fell on the Philippine Sea, the Americans were now moving west in a wall hundreds of miles across.
Led by Hancock and John Adams, almost 40 missile-shooting escorts accompanied them: Aegis cruisers and guided-missile destroyers, some with the carriers and others in surface action groups. Nuclear attack submarines prowled below, some to defend, and others to attack any Shang, Han, or Song boats they detected. The slower LHA Solomon Islands and her escorts were also moving west, with Marine F-35Bs and two dozen Navy Seahawks to augment the sea-control effort to hunt, track, and, if required, kill PRC shipping. The carriers zigzagged at high speeds on her north and south horizons, but within radio relay range. Marine AH-1Z Viper and Navy Sierra crews developed tactics during the transit west that allowed them to act as flying PT boats ahead of the American advance to scout and kill. Overhead, unmanned Tritons and ASW Poseidons scanned the seas and acted as secure radio relays for the strike groups. This allowed McGill in Japan, and even Clark in Hawaii, to keep tabs on them with only short delays. In the Indian Ocean, USS Les Aspin kept the PLA honest and stayed just outside threat envelopes. Qin had to defend on two fronts, and the Americans had longer reach.
At midnight, “Mother” Tucker, the pilot of Panther 301, was late to relieve Turnip, who had sat in the jet parked on the starboard shelf for the past four hours under the blackest sky Mother had ever seen.
Mother could not get out of this. When his Ops Officer was tasked to help with strike planning and his captains were either out of crew rest, med down, or otherwise scheduled for the morning launches, the Duty Officer saw Mother as the only option to meet the tasking. Mother took a hard look at the schedule and his pilot roster, studying and evaluating every combination of options that could allow him to skip this middle-of-the-night alert surface combat air patrol with not even a sliver of moon. Hancock was over 500 miles from Guam or Iwo, and Mother felt the ship lurch in three dimensions on the rolling seas. He grumbled and headed to the paraloft, dressing into his flight gear in grim silence as another of his captains left, on time, to relieve the squadron XO parked abeam the LSO platform.