“Any indication they’ve detected us?”
A chief manning a nearby display said, “TAO, ESM hit bearing two-six-zero. Looks like a Chinese helicopter radar.”
The TAO looked at the captain in alarm.
“Maneuver us northeast. Give me twenty-five knots.”
“Aye, sir.”
The TAO relayed the command to the bridge, and the ship’s deck listed beneath the captain’s feet as it turned.
The captain walked over to the air defense team. “Do we have a track on that helicopter?”
“Yes, sir, but it’s pretty sketchy since we don’t have radar up. It’s somewhere over in this area.” The petty officer pointed at the red hostile air track on his display.
Captain Harris felt his pulse racing as he calculated a half-dozen options. He had a lot of firepower on board, but he wanted to avoid detection…
“Sir, the helicopter looks like it’s headed our way. The electronic fixes are getting closer.”
Captain Harris said, “Ready the laser. No radar. Use visual aiming only.”
The TAO looked at him. “Sir?”
“Hurry.”
“Yes, sir.”
The TAO ran over to an Operations Specialist manning the newly-installed laser weapons system.
“Throw the video feed up front, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
The right front screen flashed to a green image external of the ship. A small dark object was visible in the distance. A white reticle centered over it.
“Power coming online. Ready to lase, sir.”
The Michael Monsoor’s electric drive and integrated power system generated over seventy megawatts of power, enough for a small city. Now, that power was about to be directed into a small, focused energy beam aimed at the Chinese helicopter heading toward their position.
Inside the helicopter, the Chinese aircrew studied their tactical display, trying to determine if the small radar return to the northeast was really a ship, or merely a pod of whales breaking the surface of the ocean. It was too small to be a ship, wasn’t it? They decided to fly closer to gather infrared video imagery to be sure.
On board the Michael Monsoor, Captain Harris said, “Open fire.”
The men and women in combat fell silent, staring at the screen, as thousands of watts of power flowed through the laser weapon and focused on a moving target.
The helicopter’s silhouette on the monitor exploded into a liquid-black ball of smoke, flame, and metal remains now tumbling to the sea. The approaching Chinese fleet, still unaware of the American ship’s presence, knew only that they had lost communications and radar contact with their helicopter.
The USS Michael Monsoor’s inverted bow continued cutting silently through the water, speeding away from the Chinese in stealth as it headed northeast.
2
David Manning walked down the steps of a CIA Gulfstream IV jet and onto the hot tarmac at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, the Washington Monument and Capitol Building visible in the distance. He flanked his boss, Susan Collinsworth, head of Joint Task Force Silversmith, as they walked toward a waiting black Chevy Suburban.
The SUV was escorted by two armored US Army security vehicles, blue lights flashing, as they took the Arlington Memorial Bridge across the Potomac River. What little traffic was on the roads quickly moved out of the way as they passed. That had been one of the few good things about the war. Less traffic, everywhere. Thanks to Russia and China flexing their muscles in oil-rich countries, gas prices had skyrocketed and few could afford to drive to work anymore. The war had decimated international trade, and the country was still reeling from the effects of Chinese cyber and EMP attacks during the conflict’s opening days. The economy had tumbled, and never fully recovered.
Most people now worked remotely via the North American Secure Internet or took lower-cost public transportation to the office. Many of the new jobs supported the war in some way or another, and those employees were the lucky ones. Others didn’t have work. Movie theaters and restaurants had shut down, and small businesses declared bankruptcy in droves. The times were tough.
The war had several names. Most Americans called it World War Three, or simply The War. The “neutral” international community often referred to it as the Chinese American War. To Chinese state-sponsored media, and the news organizations wishing to receive favorable treatment from China, it was known as The War Against American Hostility. David and his colleagues at the CIA sometimes used that term tongue-in-cheek. Dark humor to get through dark times.
Susan glanced at him from across the SUV. “Nice to be back in DC. I was getting tired of Raven Rock.”
David hummed agreement, studying his notes before the brief. Within twenty-four hours of the Chinese EMP attack that kicked off the war, the Washington DC-based government leadership was physically decentralized. Congressmen and generals alike were shipped off to a pre-identified collection of bunkers and military bases across the nation. But people hated living like that, and now that the hot war had cooled, the power players who controlled America’s military, intelligence, and political leadership were returning to their original locations.
The highly secretive Silversmith task force remained at Eglin Air Force Base near Destin, Florida. Silversmith was a joint CIA-DOD organization tasked to analyze Chinese military strategy and lead covert programs designed to counter Chinese activities. While the number of personnel involved in Silversmith was small — only a few hundred — its output was very influential in shaping US war policy.
A fusion center for the vast American and allied intelligence collection organizations, Silversmith was made up of elite military and intelligence personnel. Top-level experts on technology and China. Spies. Strategists. Special ops. Susan and — until recently — General Schwartz led them all.
David had become one of her most prized team members. She realized early on that he had a talent for strategy and analysis that few others could match. And having lost his own father in the war, he was highly motivated to perform.
Susan glanced at David. “Try not to give the president too much detail. Just enough to make a decision. Keep it short and sweet.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
David hated these types of meetings, where he had to speak to a bunch of high-ranking politicians and flag officers. The type who often came with massive egos and hardened points of view. They would second-guess his facts and make decisions based on ulterior motives. Sometimes they would just try to crush the briefer to make themselves look smart and score points with the boss. It was even worse when the boss happened to be the President of the United States. Higher stakes. Olympic-level boardroom battles. But David had learned long ago that the most powerful weapon in the world was information in the hands of someone who knew how to use it.
The column of vehicles came to a halt under a long security tent designed to obstruct the view of snipers and surveillance. US Secret Service agents directed David and Susan through security before escorting them into the West Wing and, finally, the Situation Room.
Most seats were already filled. The CIA Director nodded to David and greeted Susan by name. David greeted General Schwartz, now the Director for Operations, J3, of the Joint Staff at the Pentagon. General Schwartz had been promoted out of Silversmith after they’d successfully orchestrated the Battle of Johnston Atoll. David recognized the other faces around the table as cabinet members and intelligence agency heads.
The President of the United States walked in, and the group stood. He sat in the conference table’s head seat and the others followed his lead. James Roberts, age forty-five, had been considered a rising star in his party, picked as vice president in an attempt to bolster the late President Griffin’s appeal to younger voters.