Currently, the only American presence in the area was an Aegis-class cruiser, the USS Lake Champlain. She’d been on station for two months, popping in and out of port on liberty visits as often as her schedule permitted, and Chang had come to know her captain well. Captain James Norfolk was a typical American, brash and blunt, overflowing with vital energy and good cheer. His ship itself was a marvel to Chang, containing advanced electronics and weaponry that his country would not see for decades. It seemed to entrust such technological capabilities to what — by Taiwanese standards — amounted to a pickup crew. The cruiser captain himself would be in command for only eighteen months. Chang’s tour, by contrast, was a minimum of five years.
Nevertheless, Chang and Norfolk quickly came to understand each other as only professional sailors could do. Chang privately considered some of the captain’s tactical plans to be foolhardy, but he recognized that the superior weaponry and fire control systems could quickly compensate for any overconfidence on the part of the cruiser’s crew.
The cruiser was ten miles to the north, conducting a slow, methodical search of her assigned operating area. The ship’s last liberty had been cut short when the Taiwanese government began to notice escalating tensions. Norfolk was not so sure he agreed, but he was an accommodating fellow. He rousted his crew and put to sea with almost everyone onboard. The helicopters were still ferrying back and forth almost daily to reprovision them and bring along stragglers.
Chang walked to the bridge wing and stared off to the east. Somewhere over the horizon lay China. Not that being over the horizon mattered anymore. In terms of weapons and fire-control solutions, they were virtually next door.
This latest missile test would bring them even closer. It would be fired from a Chinese destroyer. The intelligence reports Chang had seen were worrisome. She supposedly carried sea-skimmer missiles that might be virtually impossible to detect before it was too late. Additionally, the cruiser in company with her carried long-range land attack missiles.
The Chinese claimed it was a test. Chang considered the exercise as preparations for war.
Without the Americans here, he had little hope of intercepting the missile with his own missiles. Even with her best efforts, the systems she was designed to fight against were decades old, and no amount of care and maintenance could make up for the technological gap between the two ships. And no one could doubt that the American sailors, for all their frequent transfers, were superbly trained.
No, the critical differences lay far deeper than that. First, Chang and his crew knew these waters, knew the tricks and traps of both the electromagnetic spectrum and the seething currents under their hull. Second, the Marshall P’eng was defending her homeland. The chain of command was shorter, Chang’s orders more direct, and his motivation strong. Countering this missile attack, if indeed one took place, was what he had been born, bred, and trained for. He would prevail. That was not in doubt.
James Norfolk, the Lake Champlain’s commanding officer, had just finished soaping up for a shower after his late night workout when the general quarters gong filled the ship. He swore, jammed his thumb down on the water flow button on the showerhead, and blasted the hot water on his face just long enough to get the soap away from his eyes. That done, he grabbed his towel and took one quick swipe over his body before pulling on his pants and slipping on his shoes. With his shirt and his socks in his hand, he ran for his station in combat.
Speakers lining the passageway continued the gonging for five seconds, then a voice broke in. “General quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations. Reason for general quarters: ballistic missile launch from Gungzho base.”
Shit! Those little bastards! Norfolk vaulted up the ladders leading to the bridge, in close formation with the other sailors hauling ass all over the ship. Those heading forward or up used the starboard passageways, those heading aft or down used the port, but there was still enough movement, particularly with a large portion of the crew rousted from their racks, for asses and elbows to go flying. Many of them were far less dressed than Norfolk was, but all carried their clothes in their hands. When there was time, they’d get dressed, and not a person on the mixed gender crew gave a shit who had what on, not with general quarter going down.
Norfolk burst into combat and ran over to the TAO, Lieutenant Calvin Ackwurst. “What you got?”
“Ballistic missile launch from the shore site. Coming in over national assets, confirmed by Cheyenne. It’s for real, sir.” Ackwurst pointed up at the symbols on the monitor mounted just above eye level. “Trajectory still unknown.”
At least to us. Somebody somewhere knows where it’s going and they ain’t saying. Norfolk had spent enough time in joint command centers around this part of the world to know just how fast the detection and analysis process could work. And even now, when he was still shoving his soapy arms into his shirt, there was some poor bastard somewhere waking the President up to tell him what was going on.
“We’re still inside our box, speed twelve, course one one zero,” Ackwurst said, and then continued with an abbreviated brief on the equipment status of the ship. Even as he spoke he was moving toward the hatch leading off the bridge, because Ackwurst’s own GQ station was in engineering.
The boatswain’s mate of the watch shoved Norfolk’s GQ gear into his hands, and Norfolk automatically donned the steel helmet, the flash gear, and slung the bio-chem gear along his side. Seconds later, he said, “I relieve you,” and after a brief announcement to the watch crew, Ackwurst scurried off the bridge. The whole process had taken less than a minute.
Norfolk took a deep breath and surveyed the crew in combat. Everyone was in place, alert but not panicked. That was the reason for the frequent drills, to turn it into a reflex, to reduce the confusion factor.
“Captain?” a voice came over his headset.
“XO, it’s going to pass to the north of us, but not by much. Let’s come right, put us bow on to it. I don’t think we’re a player in this, but let’s not take any chances.”
“Aye-aye.” Norfolk felt the ship turn as the XO gave the orders, knowing that it wasn’t really necessary. Turning toward the trajectory would present a smaller profile to the missile, should it turn out to be something other than what they thought. But with modern targeting systems, it wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. The ship’s self-defense systems were equally effective at any target angle.
But even though it wasn’t tactically necessary, it gave the crew something to do, a maneuver to focus their attention on and a chance to make sure everything was working as advertised. Action calmed nerves, and the sense that they were turning to face it was beneficial as well.
“CPA, thirty miles,” Ackwurst said almost immediately. “Confirmation over intell circuits, Captain. I don’t want to stand down, though, until we figure out what’s going on.”
“Open ocean impact, sir?” Norfolk said, mentally working out the picture in his head.
“Affirmative. Unless something goes wrong.”
And something always goes wrong, Norfolk thought. It’s just a matter of how and when. “Does P’eng know?” he asked.
“I’m just letting them know now,” the TAO replied, his voice grim. “And Captain Chang ain’t liking it one little bit.”