Chapter 69
In an office on the second floor of a building attached to the new command center, Major Gushan sat at the desk he’d been assigned to when they returned from the Arctic. It was a humiliating duty, only one step above house arrest, but at least he still had his rank.
This morning he’d arrived before dawn, intending to appear as the most earnest desk jockey in the nation. Settling in, he quickly began work on an endless list of mundane tasks.
But the nature of the morning changed rapidly.
A buzz throughout the building grew into frenzied activity.
Out a window, he saw escalating movement.
Pilots were being shuttled out to their aircraft in a hurried fashion.
Fuel trucks and vehicles carrying weapons were charging about wildly.
Farther off, he saw mobile antiaircraft trucks raising their launchers and moving into defensive positions around the perimeter.
He put it off as a drill, timed to coincide with the American war games. A surprise drill to test readiness, perhaps, but a drill, nonetheless. Then the air-raid sirens began wailing and nonessential personnel were ordered to take shelter, and he began to think it might be something more.
In the midst of all this, his phone began to chirp. A call was coming in on an encrypted communications app. It was the kind of app most Chinese were banned from using, but one that had been approved for men like Gushan, who needed it to stay in touch with clandestine contacts.
Gushan picked up the phone and studied the alphanumeric code that populated the top half of the screen. Puzzled, he put an earpiece in and answered the call. A breathless voice spoke to him in a South African accent.
“This is Rand. I’m calling with a warning. Ahab is coming. Coming for you.”
Between the activity on the base and the out-of-the-blue nature of the call, Gushan found himself momentarily frazzled. “Rand?” he said. “What are you talking about? Ahab? Ahab is dead.”
“He’s alive,” Rand insisted. “He has a plane. Like the one you were trying to nick from the Americans in the Arctic. He’s coming for you. He’s coming for China. Austin says he’s trying to cause a war.”
“Austin?” Gushan said. “Is he behind this?”
“Listen to me, man,” Rand insisted. “I’m trying to warn you. Ahab’s dying. He’s trying to wreck the world on his way out.”
To Gushan’s absolute shock, the antiaircraft batteries fired off three volleys of long-range missiles in rapid succession. The building shook, the windows rattled. Outside, the crimson tails of the rockets hustled skyward, trailing white smoke.
Gushan steadied, putting the warning and the events together. At the same time, Pru took over the call, relaying everything she knew. “You have to tell your leaders America is not attacking. You have to make them listen.”
By now pandemonium had erupted across the base, reaching a crescendo as a squadron of supersonic J-20 jets raced into the sky with afterburners screaming. It seemed like war had already come.
Gushan finished the call and then rushed from his desk, heading out into the main part of the building.
Pushing past several staff members coming in the other direction, he rushed down the nearby hallway.
A short turn took him to the stairwell. Two flights led him thirty feet below ground level, where he came face-to-face with the guard at the command center door.
Gushan offered his badge, but was denied entry.
“Understood,” he said casually, “but I have an urgent message.”
He threw a gut punch into the guard as he spoke. The man dropped to one knee. With two additional moves, Gushan subdued the guard and rushed into the main room of the command center’s hub.
The room was shaped like a shallow auditorium, with long flattish steps leading down. The combined group of generals and admirals known as the high command were gathered near the front, looking up at a big screen depicting everything that was happening off the coast.
Gushan saw yellow trail markers that charted the paths of American jets.
They came toward the coast from multiple directions.
He saw blue boxes that represented the American carrier group still off to the north.
Flashing white indicators suggested inbound missiles from the American planes.
Even from his perspective, it looked like an airstrike was underway.
Red indicators marked Chinese units. The sheer number of them revealed aircraft scrambling all over the country.
Targets had been picked out. Ports and airfields in Taiwan, Japan, and the Philippines.
The American carrier group heading into the Strait was target number one.
Closer to home the main focus were the pair of American jets that had crossed the Strait, dropped down to treetop level, and were now racing across the countryside.
At least two squadrons were being vectored to intercept.
Gushan ran toward the group, finding Admiral Li of all people. Li’s was the only face he really knew. “Keep the planes on the ground,” he shouted. “You’re just sending those men to their deaths.”
Li was shocked. “What are you doing in here, Major? We’re under attack!”
“It’s not the Americans,” Gushan insisted. “It’s Ahab.”
No one knew what he was talking about.
The main door flew open. A mob of military police rushed in. On-screen, the recently launched fighters began to explode, one after another after another. Radio chatter confirmed the disaster.
“We’ve been hit…”
“Bail out…”
“No missile lock…”
“Ahab is a terrorist,” Gushan shouted while moving to stay ahead of the security team. “He’s working with the Yellow Tigers.”
The name of the group was well-known. It stirred some interest, but by now the MPs had surrounded him. They tackled him to the floor.
Gushan didn’t resist. He shouted to Admiral Li instead. “Ahab gave them the laser off the American plane. The one you and I were trying to recover. He’s using it to stir up this fight. What else could be shooting our planes and missiles out of the sky?”
“Preposterous,” someone shouted.
“Get him out of here,” another member of the brass yelled.
Two hulking security men were now piled on top of Gushan.
They held him down, pulling his arms back behind him and cuffing him.
As they lifted him up, Gushan briefly caught sight of the board.
The tracking lines showed the Chinese planes and missiles vanishing from radar long before they got into firing range.
Farther off, the lines demarking the paths of at least two dozen American aircraft had ended mysteriously as well.
“Did our jets take out the American planes?” he grunted.
No answer.
The guards started hauling Gushan out of the room.
“If not us, then who?”
One of the guards jammed a baton into Gushan’s stomach to silence him. Gushan buckled and gasped for air. Still, he didn’t resist, keeping his focus on the generals. “What about the missiles?” he called out.
The men gathered in front of the large screen studied the things Gushan was referring to with new eyes. Chief among them was General Wei, Supreme Commander of the Eastern Theater for the PLAN.
As the man upon whom immediate decisions rested, Wei had felt particularly baffled by what he was seeing.
The leading American planes were slow and performing oddly.
Radar cross sections recognized them as “heavies.” Big jets.
Possibly B-52s, but more likely cargo transports or even airliners.
They had been flying erratically, changing course multiple times a few miles offshore, almost crashing into one another and then diving maniacally toward the coast.
The flight plan made little sense. Leading an attack with big, slow planes made even less. It had been suggested they might be carrying paratroopers, but two platoons of airborne soldiers wouldn’t last long in even the smallest Chinese hamlet.
The vanishing American interceptors were another mystery. They had been converging on the larger aircraft before disappearing from view.
“Super stealth,” someone had suggested, using the name of a rumored American technology that could turn any aircraft invisible at will.
Wei thought the idea far-fetched. But even if the Americans had such a system, there would be no reason to wait until they were halfway across the Strait to turn it on.
Radar had also confirmed the Americans launching missiles, but not so much as a single bottle rocket had landed anywhere in China. So many things about the airstrike seemed off, yet it was undeniably heading their way.
The door at the back of the great room banged open as the guards reached it with Gushan.
Wait,” the Supreme Commander ordered.
The guards stopped and propped Gushan up.
Wei turned to Admiral Li. “Is this laser weapon a reality? Could it do what we’ve seen here?”
Admiral Li nodded. “It was aboard the plane the Americans lost in the Arctic. It could very well be responsible for shooting down all these aircraft and missiles. But that doesn’t mean it’s not being flown by the Americans. If we sit back and let them eviscerate our forces…”
It was the same argument that had been going on for the last twenty minutes. Hundreds of aircraft were being readied to fly, missiles were being unlocked and prepared for launch, some at the invading aircraft, others at bigger targets.
The Supreme Commander faced a great dilemma. He almost had to retaliate at this point. But something felt off.
The voice of an aide called out an alert. “Remaining American aircraft turning back. Other than the two heavy jets, I detect no incursions into our airspace.”
The announcement gave Wei some breathing room. He turned to the board once more. “Their fighters are turning around,” he said. “But why, then, do these two jets push on?”
“Because one of them is being flown by the Yellow Tigers,” Gushan insisted. “And the other is controlled by a pair of Americans who are attempting to stop the Tigers from causing World War Three.”
Caught halfway between Gushan and the Supreme Commander, Admiral Li found himself in a unique position. He wasn’t an expert at too many things, but reading a room was one of them. The situation had turned. He saw an opening and sidled up to General Wei.
“General,” he said, whispering like a snake charmer. “There could be an opportunity here. One we shouldn’t pass up so hastily.”