Anchorage was still four hundred miles north, but the thrill of impending action warmed his soul. Even the Japanese, at the height of their power, weren’t able to get an invasion force so close to the US mainland. Probably because they weren’t half as motivated as the People’s Republic of China.
The economic disruptions of the last few months removed the most important safety valve in US/China relations: being major business partners. Competing nationalistic and ideological differences could be held at bay and defy the historic odds, so long as both sides worked towards a shared purpose. Without the common goal of making a quick buck, these two extremely ambitious peoples were inevitably going to butt heads. The only thing surprising is that it didn’t happen earlier.
China had their back against the wall. The US, their biggest export market, was rebuilding a real manufacturing base at the same time demand from the rest of the world slumped in the worldwide economic crisis. A young, new Chinese middle class watched their jobs disappear as fast as their hopes for a better future. After getting a taste of the high life, of all the luxuries and security a bit of money could provide, they’d be damned if they’ll meekly go back to sustenance farming.
China’s top power brokers read the writing on the wall of the new world order early on. The Politburo in Beijing were nothing if not pragmatic. They’d do whatever it took to protect their comfortable place in the world.
Facing the greatest internal unrest since Tiananmen Square, China’s leadership was desperate. When the US snatched Alaska back into the Union with a lighting airborne strike, Beijing pounced at the opportunity. Official Chinese outrage rivaled that of the URA. The UN firmly rejected their offer of sending in “peacekeepers” to prevent more bloodshed.
The Politburo insisted and mobilized their forces anyway.
Zheng gazed into the dark, wondering how best to leverage his pending conquest. The oil and abundant natural resources in Alaska were mere bonuses. The real prize the Politburo needed was the fighting itself. Nothing pulls the people together like an external war. The threat from “the others” was always good for a lot of mileage. Sure wouldn’t harm his career, either.
The ship’s captain drew far too close to the admiral. Even dared to look him right in the eyes. The junior officer’s improper familiarity betrayed his nervousness. “Sir, we’re passing the last control point. Still no recall order from Beijing. Should we break radio silence and request confirmation before we attack?”
Zheng was too pumped up to reprimand the naïve captain. It was, after all, his idea to tell the officers and enlisted men this was all a political show of force. That was the great irony. Only the sailors and troops involved in the invasion were shocked. Despite all the secrecy the Chinese tried to maintain, mainly out of habit, there was little surprise for the enemy when their fleet finally sailed out of Guangzhou harbor late at night. In the age of satellite surveillance, the PLA Navy didn’t waste time trying to obfuscate their route once at sea. Tracked by the world, the force made a beeline for the Bering Strait. Beijing stalled or simply ignored one sternly worded diplomatic protest after another by the United States.
“Unfortunately, Captain, the invasion is no military exercise. The barbarian province of Alaska must be secured to protect the land of our ancestors from further American aggression.”
The captain’s stoic face tightened, but he didn’t move. Admiral Zheng raised an eyebrow. “I imagine you’re quite busy with the final airstrike preparations. I strongly recommend you focus your attention on that and leave politics to the politicians.”
His thinly veiled threat snapped the captain out of whatever disloyal fantasies he toyed with. “Yes sir. Right away.”
Zheng returned his salute without even looking at him. There was no reason to worry. Only the most loyal personnel were aboard the thirty transports and thirty more warships in his flotilla. He beamed over the railing at the crowded flight deck below. The centerpiece of his armada.
The PLAN’s only real aircraft carrier, his Liaoning short-deck carrier, bought dirt-cheap from the Ukraine years ago, would spearhead the assault. China spent a small fortune renovating and modernizing her, but that investment would pay off in spades today. When not carrying any helicopters and loaded down exclusively with fixed-wing aircraft, she could launch all 46 J-11 multi-role fighter-bombers China had, some of the best jets in their inventory.
That was just the tip of the iceberg though. He scanned the skies, hunting for his escorting hunters. Somewhere up there, all 24 of the Air Force’s ultra-modern SU-35 fighters, flown by the best pilots in the PLAF, waited to pounce on any threat. It took every midair refueling tanker China could scrounge up to keep them on station, but they’d make the US Air Force think twice about interfering.
The point of all this heavy metal was simply to deliver the fleet’s human cargo: 18,000 of China’s best marine, Special Forces and airborne troops. The cherry on top of the cream of the crop. According to their intelligence, they easily outnumbered the federal occupation forces by at least 3 to 1, and probably matched them in quality. Most importantly, with Canada’s stubborn neutrality and URA forces tying the USA down, there was no way for the Americans to reinforce their oil-rich outpost.
Zheng sucked in his gut, swelling with pride. The ships, planes and troops under his command represented a mere fraction of China’s complete strength, but these forces came from the only fraction that mattered. On paper, the People’s Liberation Army was an unstoppable, two million-man behemoth. In practice, not all men were created equal. Most of the military, with its poorly trained and educated conscripts armed with obsolete equipment, was little more than a welfare program. Worthless in a modern war against a high-tech foreign power and unreliable, at best, against internal rebellion.
The Politburo derived their real hold on power from the small core of professionals inside the horde. Only that loyal contingent of well-paid, well-trained and modern-armed troops mattered worth a damn. It was this same irreplaceable elite the PRC leadership entrusted to Admiral Zheng in their little game of Risk.
One of those young pawns opened the bridge door and shouted into the wind. “Admiral, we have our first radar contact. Looks like a recon flight of two drones. Bearing 68 degrees, coming in high altitude, but subsonic.”
Zheng sneered. How arrogant of the round eyes to send two measly aircraft against his armada. Well, perhaps it was desperation. Most of the still-loyal American Navy and Air Force were busy patrolling the inter-US border or blockading the rebellious West Coast.
According to Chinese intelligence, not a single US naval vessel operated within 600 miles of his force. If a US submarine or two lurked undetected nearby they might present a problem, but American air power was the last thing on his mind. Not with so many escorts and all his ships clustered together to provide overlapping defensive fire.
The admiral raised his field glasses along the azimuth the sailor suggested. Time to educate the barbarians. Four missile trails from his fighter cover already lanced out at the American recon flight. He savored the victory appetizer, knowing full well the meal would come just as easily.
Despite his vantage point and high-powered binoculars, Zheng didn’t see the interception. Mainly because the brilliant sunbursts from both targets seared his retinas, blinding him for the rest of his life.
All five seconds of it.