General Chen slammed the table with his fist and glared at the strategic missile force commander. “Is that true?”
“We are still gathering information, sir.”
General Chen collapsed into his seat, rubbing his temples. Lena couldn’t remember ever seeing her father appear so afraid. She didn’t like it. He was unstable enough already.
General Chen said, “How could they have launched a conventional strike around the globe with such precision?”
A PLA Air Force general offered, “It’s possible they used their nuclear ballistic missiles, sir.”
The strategic missile commander shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. One of our radar stations was hit only ten kilometers from here. If the American strike was nuclear, we would be dead.”
Lena watched her father flexing his jaw as he listened. He was furious. She said, “We have many air force jets flying to support our remaining naval vessels in the Caribbean. Surely there must be some good news.”
Her father looked up, hope in his eyes.
The PLA Navy admiral was half listening while holding a phone to his ear. His face was ashen. When he placed the phone down, he said, “Our ships and aircraft are involved in heavy fighting with the American Atlantic fleet. There appears to be a large reserve force of American aircraft entering the region from the north.”
Captain Ray “Skip” Hagan had just gone feet wet over the Gulf of Mexico in his F-35A. The Air Force fighter was one of four flying in formation down from Canada. Through his four-hundred-thousand-dollar helmet-mounted display system, he was able to look “through” the aircraft’s skin and see the hundreds of other American fighters flying in the night sky around him. The world was illuminated by a combination of night vision, infrared, and digital tags. As he turned his head, each aircraft was outlined by a small green reticle. Onboard computers fed information to him, digitally displayed through his helmet. The F-35 improved the situational awareness of pilots tenfold over previous-generation fighters. If anything, the challenge was dealing with the overflow of information while not forgetting the first rule of being a pilot: fly the aircraft.
Hundreds of Air Force and Navy jets had been racing south throughout the night. Tanking with the refueler aircraft was madness, reminding him of Outer Banks gas stations during July. Only it was at night, with hundred-million-dollar fifth-generation fighters.
Skip shifted in his seat as he looked through his helmet and moved his hands along the controls, typing keys and flipping switches as the digital information was displayed on his helmet. Gigabytes of data streamed to and from the other aircraft in silence as they flew on super-cruise toward what Skip hoped was an unsuspecting enemy.
“Black Widow One-Nine-Five and flight, Blue Knight.” The Air Force E-3 Sentry airborne air control aircraft, flying over the central Gulf of Mexico, was checking in with each group of fighters and assigning them targets.
Skip spoke into his helmet microphone. “Blue Knight, Black Widow One-Nine-Five and flight, go.”
“Black Widow One-Nine-Five and flight come to new heading one-seven-zero. Kill tracks bravo-seven-two through bravo-eight-two. How copy?”
“Black Widow One Nine-Five copies all.”
Through their helmets, Skip and the three pilots on his wing could now see the tracks the Air Force radar aircraft had just assigned them flashing to catch their attention.
Skip banked his aircraft left, and his wingmen held formation. They were being fed targeting data from the E-3, and kept their own radars off for now. He increased throttle until the jet was flying at close to seven hundred knots, his hands dancing around the weapons system control keypad as he ensured the correct missile was selected and armed.
When they were in range, he depressed the weapons release button, and four AIM-260 Joint Air Tactical Missiles dropped from his aircraft and rocketed forward. The three other aircraft in his section followed suit.
The missiles traveled one hundred and fifty miles south at five times the speed of sound, where they turned on their active homing radars. The missiles quickly found their targets: a squadron of China’s advanced J-20 fighters and a Chinese airborne early warning aircraft.
The targeted Chinese fighters were flying blind. They had just received inexplicable orders to stop using their datalink and GPS. The Chinese J-20 squadron commander had just finished dividing up his squadron onto different radio frequencies so that their radar control aircraft could verbally assign them targets.
Alarms began ringing in his ear and lighting up on his cockpit display. Looking out his cockpit window, the Chinese fighter squadron commander watched in horror as his large radar control aircraft burst into flames and fell into the sea.
This was when Skip’s AIM-260 missile burst into the Chinese fighter, sending fragments through the fuel tank and engines. As the other missiles struck their targets in rapid succession, Chinese fighters exploded in the night sky.
Across the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico, similar scenes unfolded. Hundreds of American fighters were clearing the skies. Creating a path for strikes on the remaining Chinese fleet. And carving the way for the Marine landing that had just begun in Panama.
As the reports came in to the Chinese presidential aircraft, Lena watched her father’s psyche progressively deteriorate.
Minister Dong said, “The Americans launched a surprise attack with unexpectedly large reserves of aircraft and naval warships. Our ships and aircraft are engaged in combat throughout the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico. My analysts tell me that the PLA Navy and Air Force are each taking heavy casualties. American submarines are sinking our destroyers. Our own hypersonic missiles, somehow hijacked by the Americans, have hit our Jiaolong-class battleships, severely depleting our air defense and anti-submarine capability.”
One of the PLA generals said, “But our troops are advancing in Central America. We have broken through American lines in Costa Rica. Some of our scout units are as far north as Mexico.”
Minister Dong shook his head. “My team tells me that a division of US Marines has just landed in Panama. If that is true, they could cut off our supply lines and flank us.”
The PLA general barked, “That is ridiculous! If that were true, I would have heard…”
General Chen clenched his fists, speaking through gritted teeth. “Enough. The Americans have gained the upper hand.”
He sounded tired. Lena thought of her child. What if this war ended today? Someday she might be able to travel to America. She had done many bad things, but surely the Americans would value her contributions.
The only thing she was sure of was her motherly instinct to protect her child. She must continue to guide her father to a safe outcome. This was why she had remained after Jinshan’s death. She looked at him. He was unstable and surrounded by loyalists who — aside from Dong— would only tell him what he wanted to hear. Her work was almost done, though. She wondered if she would be able to get her father to surrender if…
General Chen turned to the PLA Navy admiral. “Our nuclear ballistic missile submarines.”
Lena’s heart stopped.
The admiral said, “Yes, sir?”
“You said two of them are still operational and in range of American targets?”
The whispered conversations around the table went silent. The PLA Navy admiral nodded. “Yes, General Chen. I believe…”
“You believe? Confirm, now! I will wait.”
The admiral rose and walked to the next room. Through the large window Lena could see him speaking to one of the plane’s communications specialists.
Was her father about to order a nuclear strike? He couldn’t possibly think that was a good option. She risked a question while the group waited. “Sir, before we explore whether any of our own missiles are ready, it would be prudent to inquire whether the Russian capabilities…”