Yin stepped back from the radioman, horrified. The members of his flag staff looked on in absolute shock. Captain Sun led the crushed Fleet Admiral back to his seat.
“Don’t worry, Admiral,” Captain Sun said. “Wait for the complete status report. Do not lose faith in your men. The air raids are over now — we can reassemble our forces and finish this battle. We can—”
“Sir!” the intercom from the Hong Lung's Combat Information Center blared out. “Missile warning! Patrol boat reports possible inbound Tomahawk cruise missiles from the southeast. Multiple inbounds, heading northwest… sir! Possible sighting of aircraft from patrol boat 403, two hundred and twenty kilometers east of our position… sir, first estimate of missiles inbound from the southeast number twenty… sir, do you copy…?”
Yin was numb. He had lost. The Americans had not only decimated his spearhead forces, but had quickly assembled another attack force and were pressing the engagement.
There was only one thing to do.
Slowly, the look of shock still frozen on his face, Yin withdrew a silver key on a chain about his neck. Every member of his flag staff shot to their feet in horror… it was the execution key for the Fei Lung-9 nuclear missiles. But despite their horror no one tried to stop Yin — they realized that it was his only option. Good or bad, Yin would ultimately win this battle and do what he set out to accomplish — destroy the city of Davao, crush the rebel opposition, and occupy Mindanao.
Yin inserted the key into the execution order box and pressed a button inside the recessed chamber. The alarm began to ring through the ship. No one on the flag staff moved. Crewmen scurried about, handing out protective gear and running to their Fei Lung-9 battle stations. Yin picked up the telephone.
“Battle Cry. Battle Cry,” the Admiral said. His face was ghostly, muffled, almost strangled — he could have had his protective facemask on, but he did not.
“Initial code verified,” the voice of the Fei Lung-9 weapon systems officer on the other end of the line asked. “Targets, sir?”
Yin paused, his eyes trying to fix on something in the darkness beyond the slanted windows of the flag bridge. He then said, “Davao.”
“Understood, sir. Execution automatic. Awaiting authentication code.” Yin seemed to be frozen. “Comrade Admiral? Authentication code?”
“Red… Moon…”
“Understood, sir. Authentication verified. Full connectivity checked… received. Execution in three minutes… mark. System automatic engaged, extreme range of system but coming within range, attack profile confidence is good. Countdown hold in two minutes. Combat out.”
The two-minutes-to-automatic-countdown hold passed very, very quickly. The phone to Yin’s panel rang and he raised it to his lips. “Final countdown hold, sir. Target now within range. Orders?”
“Orders… Dragon Sword. Dragon Sword,” Yin replied.
“Understood, sir. Final code verified.” The sixty-second-launch warning to all decks blared.…
And then there was another sound, except it was not a horn — it was a high-pitched scream, rising in intensity to almost painful proportions. Just as the scream became almost physically unbearable, the destroyer was rocked by a spectacular explosion that dimmed the lights throughout the ship and sent most of the flag staff sprawling.
Jon Masters had commanded the second NIRTSat reconnaissance satellite to deorbit while it was still thirty thousand miles away. The satellite had retracted its charge-coupled device scanners and sensitive radar antennae within its protective housing, then powerful thrusters began to slow the satellite at a precise moment. As the satellite slowed from its orbital speed of seventeen thousand miles per hour, it began to descend through the atmosphere. The thrusters kept the satellite’s protective tiles facing its direction of travel as it re-entered the atmosphere, burning off bits of the ablative armor as it careened through space like an asteroid.
But unlike an asteroid, the NIRTSat was still under control from a console on Guam. Once the satellite had safely decelerated, Masters ordered the on-board sensors activated. The satellite was right on course, right on the same track it had been following since its launch — right over the Celebes Sea near Davao Gulf. Masters had simply locked the synthetic aperture radar and infrared scanner on the fleet of five ships; then, as it got closer and closer, he positively identified the large destroyer and steered it directly onto the aft deck of the Hong Lung.
The satellite was of course not carrying a warhead, but falling at over five times the speed of sound, the destructive power of the titanium-armored four-hundred-pound satellite was akin to a large torpedo. The force of the impact drove the Hong Lung's stem down several meters; then the satellite crashed through the engine compartment belowdecks and literally pushed one of the diesel-turbine engines down ten feet through the keel. The engine compartment began to flood, and the ship had already begun to heavily list to one side and by the stern before enough watertight doors could be closed to contain the damage…
… and, most importantly, the impact and the momentary power interruption had automatically canceled the Fei Lung-9 launch.
Yin’s last attempt at revenge and victory had been stopped.
Captain Sun stepped over to Admiral Yin, bowed, and said, “Comrade Admiral, the flooding is nearly out of control. The frigate Jiujiang is alongside. Will you transfer your flag, sir?”
There was no reply.
Admiral Yin was staring blankly ahead, his thoughts a confused jumble of his past, the present — and the dismal future. Returning to China and facing the general staff would be devastating, utterly devastating. His honor would be ripped apart in full view of the entire world. His court-martial and execution would be public and brutal. He would be totally, utterly humiliated.
Yin turned to Captain Sun, and he saw that the man’s demeanor, far from being the attentive chief of staff, now appeared to be more like a second at a duel, making sure that Yin realized and fulfilled his obligation.
His obligation… to lead his forces into victory, or die.
Sun understood the humiliation that awaited the Admiral upon his return, and he silently reminded him that he need not subject himself to it.
Captain Sun and the Admiral’s flag staff watched with awe and, yes, a bit of admiration and respect, as Admiral Yin Po L’un stepped toward the small personal shrine installed in one corner of the Admiral’s flag bridge, knelt before it, withdrew his Type 54 7.62-millimeter sidearm from his holster, placed the muzzle to his right temple, and calmly blew his brains out across his flag bridge.
Epilogue
Escorted by two aides and two soldiers, High General Chin Po Zihong marched through the halls to the offices of the Premier of the People’s Republic of China. He was quickly escorted by the Premier’s protocol staff to the main conference room and asked to enter immediately.
At least two hundred heads swung toward him as he entered: it was as if the entire Communist Party of China were assembled in that room. Cheung was alone at the head of the conference table; the seat normally reserved for him at Cheung’s left was taken by Cheung’s Home Minister. There was no way Chin could reach his usual seat — and, after decades of studying and developing military tactics, it was obvious that it was precisely what Cheung had in mind. He stepped quickly over to the end of the long conference table directly opposite Cheung, and the bureaucrats and politicians of the Party closed in around the table.